When natural disater strikes, the human charatcer is tested. I'm not talking about the resilience of those going through actual tradegy, or the appointed officials who stay awake until the room is spinning in order to figure out a way to get a city of 8 million back in order. Those unlucky individuals that have been hit head on and are suffering to piece their lives back together one saved photo album at a time are the true heros. But, in typical self-centered fashion, I'm focusing on those in the outskirts of the disaster, like myself. Those that braced for the worst, but flung their drapes open on Tuesday morning to find that they had gotten through the storm unscathed. While we made it through without so much as a downed tree limb in our way, we are bored and we're going to let everyone know it.
Three nights ago, I turned off my bedside lamp with reluctancy. The wind was whipping around my building with serious ferver and tree braches were cracking with a popping noise that made me jump away from the window and seek shelter. The weather was livid, and there was not a damn thing anyone could do about it. I drifted into an uneasey slumber, knowing that tomorrow I could wake up to find sewage and salt water lapping against the brick wall of my second story apartment. To say I was paranoid would be unfair. The news was referring to the hurricane as a super storm that was going to wreak havoc across the Northeast with it's 900-mile-wide spinning circle of doom. Ok, so maybe the term "spinning cirlce of doom" was never mentioned, but it's close enough. So, while expecting the worst, I was completely relieved to find that uptown Manhattan has been spared.
Then came the realization that mass transit was going to be out for a week. Subway cars were going to sit idle for the first time ever, meaning antsy city dwellers were going to be doing the same. The next week or so was going to be quiet and unbusy, and for most New Yorkers grasping this reality sent them into a sprial of undone to-do lists and evoked nightmares of nights spent soberly inside one's place of residence. Even for New York City transplants that hail from less bustling areas of the country, this was going to be a true test of patience. We are being forced to do nothing, and while most are taking to social media to share their thoughts about cabin fever and the symptoms of going stir-crazy, here I sit, happily off the grid. Of course, it is only day three of no-mass-transit-hurricane-survival, but I must admit I have been approaching these days as mental health opportunities. No work means no alarm clock, and no alarm clock just seems so right.
But, of course, outside sources have been slowly permeating the perimeter of my happy and work-free bubble encouraging me to start being - and here is a word that I love to hate - productive. The questions have starting rolling in... "What are you doing with all these extra days to yourself?" "How are you not going insane, you must be keeping busy, but how?" The honest-to-whoever-you-believe-in answer is, I'm not sure how I have busied away a full 72 hours, but the lack of plans and pile up of empty hours has not bothered me one bit.
Now, I wouldn't be completely telling the truth if I didn't admit that I cleaned out my closet, reorganized my clothing drawers, scrubbed my room from top to bottom, and finished a semi-challening crossword puzzle found in the back of a gossip magazine. It's true, I have done all of those things. My time has not been completely filled with Roseanne marathons and nap times, but all-in-all I have spent the majority of my free vacation days set to the theme of relaxation. In other words, I'm actaully finding time for ample shut-eye in the city that never sleeps, and I'm loving it.
I'm not a complete jerk, I understand that the surrounding areas are full of damage and destruction that might never be able to be repaired to completeness. I understand that the devastation is wide-spread and that some in the tri-state area are grieving a loss of precious life. My heart goes out to these survivors that propbably don't even know which way to turn in order to begin getting things back to a sembelence of normalcy. I'm not trying to belittle their suffering, so please don't read this and think that I am a monster visiting from the depths of hell. I'm just recounting my version of what has now been dubbed the storm of the century.
After all is said and done, New York and New Jersey will recover. You can argue a lot of negatives about these spots on the map, however no can make a case against their spirit. The subways will be up and running again in no time, the bridges and tunnels which took a pummeling from the winds and rains will be restored to safety, and the boardwalks that gave personality and uniqueness to the shores will be rebuilt to true Jersey glory. The workers behind these efforts and even the politicians who nudge them along should truly be appreciated by all those who reside in or will ever visit the Northeast. Getting things back to normal isn't easy.
But, until my office reopens and I'm expected to reenter the hum-drumness of my everyday routine, I'll be here, frivoulously wasting my time on projects and creative endevours that would usually go unexplored. However, as much free time as I am able to get out of this thing, I still have a few last words for the late October hurricane that ripped through my beloved city...
Sandy, you really know how to ruin a good thing. I'm glad you're gone. You blew.
And a few more for the newscasters and weather reporters that I believe have been placed on my television to drive me to the peak of insanity...
Please get your hands on a thesauraus. There has to be another word on this earth that can be used in place of "unprecedented," so do me a favor and find it and mix it in... Thank you in advance from the entire East Coast of America.
