In the year and a half I've lived here, I've been secretly hoping for a hurricane.

On a highly shallow front, it's really what my job is about. As a broadcaster, hurricanes are my time to shine.

On a slightly (but not much) less shallow front, I was just really curious. People talk about them all the time. The sure seem exciting, and lots of those people even refer to their hurricane memories with a little gleam in their eyes, betraying their talk about danger and devastation.

There's been some big weather swirling around the ocean for the last two weeks, but no immediate threats.

When I left the station today, Hurricane Gabrielle was gaining strength and pressing towards shore, but far north enough that I didn't really think there's be mucb of an effect outside of heavy rains and choppy seas.

Is this week EVER going to end? I mean, really. It's been this week for about 2 months by now, right? It's time to xmas shop, right? I'm going home for Thanksgiving tomorrow, right?

I left work today relieved that tomorrow is Friday. All I could think, was that after tomorrow, I could stop all the information-gathering and just fucking grieve and cope already. I really haven't had a chance. No sleep, no breaks. Gogogo. Everything has been bottled up so hard and fast, I literally feel like I might blow. I considered taking a break, a day off tomorrow, then decided to stick out the week.

So I was sitting on the couch about 2 hours ago, thinking about bed or beer or something, when I got the call from my boss.

Karma is such a bitch.

The hurricane is going to hit close. The roads are already flooded. Schools will probably be closed.

It's really rainy right now, and the wind is kicking up considerably. There's lightening, but no crashing thunder yet, so it's still pretty far off.

I should come into work at 5 a.m. tomorrow. No sleep, no breaks.

God, you guys. I'm so sad for those people. Right now, I can hear desperate families on TV, pleading for anyone who has heard from their loved one to please call in. During every quiet moment, I hear the voices of the people on the planes, telling the person on the other end of their cell phone, "I'm going to die. I love you." Only in my head, it's Neal's voice, or my sisters' or my mom's or my dad's voice.

I'm scared for anyone who even looks like they might vaguely be of Arabic descent. My favorite coffee guy hasn't been in. I'm mad that he might be scared, and I'm madder that he probably has reason to be scared.

And now, right when I was seeing the light at the end of my direct involvement with the whole mess (at least for a few days), I'm looking at another tragedy. Maybe more deaths. Definitely more losses. Probably more people hurt.

You know what? I can't wait to be funny again. I'm no good at this.