My Fingers Are Raw

My Fingers Are Raw

Not for the usual reasons.

They're shredded to the bone because I've been emailing and texting like a lunatic ever since the storm hit.

You see, everyone's been super nice and concerned, contacting me to make sure I'm OK.

People who I haven't heard from in years are coming out of the woodwork to catch up, make sure things are livable, offer suggestions, and maybe to also get a little bit of gossip on what it's like inside the disaster zone.

Some people want to be able to say "I just heard from someone who's in NYC and they told me everything!"

It gives them a little bit of flooded-street cred.

And the problem is, if you answer them, they'll answer you again.

"I'm fine" leads to "You sure?"

"Sure" results in "What's happening there, exactly?"

And then six other people have texted. Or tweeted. Or called. Or emailed.

Suddenly I'm wildly popular and loving it, but spending the whole day with this back-and-forth stuff is my idea of hell because it's a bottomless pit of communication and there seem to be more important things to do with my hands, like blogging!

Only I could turn a gigantic natural disaster into a whine about my petty peeves, but hey, that kind of lopsided logic has always been part of my charm.

Anyway, thanks to everyone for caring, and now on to the natural disaster known as Romney.

Let's avoid the sensibility blackout that would surely crush us if he rained, I mean reigned.


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