Post Apocalyptic Ennui

Hello from the 13th floor.

I've dispensed with the bitching about not being able to get out of here. Not that I've done all that much moaning. After all, I've seen the news and the footage of the devastation on the Alabama coast. I should be walking around with at least a smooth forehead and an easy grin. But, just like you, I've got things that need to get done and I feel like I'm not able to take care of things from here.

Yesterday we got out of the hotel and walked down Bourbon Street. I think it was the first time I've had a good look at it during the day. I'm usually on the street at night when the dark, the neon and the crowds of people make the street look a little more glamorous. Yesterday, the bright sun exposed a lot of decay. The plywood covering the windows didn't help matters much either.

This morning I'll pack my bag and lay out my traveling clothes. That will help me feel as if I'm getting something accomplished, at least for the 15 minutes it takes me to get that done.

Last night I tried to get drunk at the bar. After four drinks I knew those little magnetic pouring devices they have on all the bottles here wouldn't allow me to get more than a sheet and a half to the wind without pushing my $60 bar tab to the $100 mark. I wasn't willing to work that hard for a buzz I knew I'd regret this morning. So we all gathered in one room and ordered Chinese take out and watched Survivor. Of course I was more interested in my eggroll than the show.

I miss you Debbie. I almost feel guilty about saying that here because it makes it sound as if I've been away for months. It's been a week. And I know there are soldiers who aren't sleeping at the Hilton who have been away from their families for more than a year. But comparing those situations to mine is ridiculous. And having those thoughts doesn't mean I can't remind you how much I'm looking forward to just being in the same room with you again.

I'm hoping my next post will be from the basement.