It's hot. Real hot. Too hot to type. Way too hot for a witty, fabulous, thought-provoking post. If you ever wondered about the insulation quality of your basic fibro cottage, I have to tell you that it's a very low quality. Like non-existent. If it's 40 degrees celsius outside, it's probably 42 degrees celsius in here.
In here, where I am trying to write as the sweat trickles down my arm, dropping into little pools on the keyboard. My fingers are sliding into nchytsl - whoops, sorry. Typos are part of the territory.
Anyhoo. I'm hot. But I'm not cowered in my house with my precious documents double-wrapped in plastic and my five precious children gathered close. That would be my Cousin A. In Townsville. Awaiting Cyclone Yasi. In its path, along with other members of extended Fam Fibro.
I rang her this morning. She told me it was eerily still. No birds. Not a breath of wind. I asked if she was okay. "Oh yeah," she said. "Just waiting."
"You're not leaving?"
"Where would we go?" She has a point. The storm is apparently 500km across and due to go as far inland as Mt Isa. It is big.
A is the most practical woman I know. I travelled in Europe with her for two years and it is because of her that I managed to find my way home. I have the sense of direction of an indoor plant. She is a homing pigeon. We would walk out of a hostel and I would unerringly turn in the wrong direction - away from the station/church/okay, pub that we were looking for. She would gently grab my arm and haul me and my backpack back on track.
I am sweating for her. In more ways than one.
Fingers crossed for a cool change in the Fibro - and an all-clear text from Cousin A.
A light breeze is a blessing. The rest Mother Nature can keep.
Update: finally got that text: All well here. Relief all round.
