Wind Howling – March 18, 2003

The wind is howling outside. It has not stopped for a day and a half. My window is shaking in its casing, rattling as if it is about to fall inward or outward, shattering into thousands of pieces on the ground or splintering into shards on my bed. I will not sleep well tonight.

I slept badly last night, too, hearing the window rattle at the edge of consciousness, only to wake up suddenly at a particularly loud or sudden clatter, pulling the blankets over my head and wondering if the window would break all over me. Would I be able to move? Or would I be forced to immobility, carefully assessing the position of the shards and extricating myself slowly? Would I be knocked unconscious?

I considered taping my windows, climbing out of bed and fumbling for the packing tape and stretching two strips across diagonally, like we did before hurricanes when I was a child, but quickly discarded the notion. I might look as if I were paranoid about the coming war, as if I were one of those people who stocked up on plastic sheeting and duct tape. Plastic sheeting and duct tape are a joke. If something bad happens, they will not protect us.

The wind is howling outside, and I wish it would stop, but it won’t, not for a while yet, so I’ll go to bed and try to sleep and wait for tomorrow.

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