It's been two weeks since the storm forced me and my girlfriend to move from our apartment. Two active, stressful weeks of orienting myself and recall rating my life. Two weeks of surviving without a permanent home and living like a gypsie nomad.
Moving the bulk of our possessions into a storage unit, throwing away damaged furniture and settling into temporary accommodations occupied most of our time. In between the laborious task of getting our collective shit together, we both had to work our daytime jobs. This blend of going to work and surviving was strange and disconcerting, however, we pulled together and handled it in a tight timetable of a few days.
Now we're moved into our home for the next few months while the landlord repairs the apartment. I've been told the floors and walls will be gutted and an "open concept" design planned. This means additional space and comfort, with new appliances ad kitchen cabinets thrown into the mix. In other news, I met with a FEMA representative and am still waiting for any financial assistance. Snowball's chance in Hell I'll get any compensation for my lost furniture, but I am hopeful.
We live 20 minutes away, lodged in my family's summer cottage, a gracious offer, by the way. I haven't had a long commute to work since 2007, so it feels good having distance separate my job from my home, as if the space acts as a barrier between the insanity of work and the comfort and tranquility privacy affords.
Things are, for the most part, normalizing and this past week saw us back into a familiar routine. We both had colds and recuperated on the same couch, taking turns making tea. My girlfriend made a delicious dinner and we watched some inane TV ("Chopped"is both riveting and terrible) and generally made the best of our situation.
It's weird writing about cleanup efforts from the storm when you're an unfortunate victim of it. Idea
I've the job demands an inordinante amount of impartiality and objectivity, yet it's tough to separate yourself from an event when it impacted you. I haven't had time to wax eloquient or offer anything insightful about the storm. Maybe I've repressed the true hurt and devastation the tempest caused.
While we're on the subject, I find it odd some news outlets are referring to the storm as "Superstorm Sandy". While Hurricane Sandy moved up the coast as a category 1 hurricane, it weakened into a sub-tropical cyclone before hitting New Jersey, so technically, it wasn't a hurricane when it made landfall. Stories recounted how the storm was downgraded from a hurricane to a cyclone ad mixed with a cold front to transform (by elfin magic) to a "Superstorm". I'm a purist here. Though it wasn't a hurricane when it hit, it started out as one before gradually losing steam and weakening before making landfall. To me, it's Hurricane Sandy, not Superstorm Sandy and definitely not a "Frankenstorm". Whoever came up with that one should be run through with an ice pick. No, Hurricane Sandy fucked my life up and caused widespread damage to the community I work and live in. Calling it a "Superstorm" makes you sound like a retarded media whore who gloms onto everything because it's trendy. National Weather Service be damned! Sandy was a hurricane, despite changing into something else. Besides, it's natural for visitors to Atlantic City to lower their standards before visiting. Sandy was just slumming it by the shore. Pennsylvanians do that every summer.