As I sit here, Hurricane Frances is making its way toward Citrus County, Florida. It might not be the most powerful storm that ever was, but it’s the largest storm that I ever saw. No doubt, within an hour my lights will surely go out.

The trustworthy weatherman just told his loyal viewers that this particular storm is five hundred miles long and about four hundred miles wide. Dear God! How lucky I was when, just a few weeks earlier, Hurricane Charlie just missed my Florida style home, but this time, it seems that my luck has surely run out.

The idea that I too might be one more of the thousands of now homeless, but truly fine Florida People, is no better reason for a full blown panic attack. I know that those now homeless people aren’t as well looked after as the nightly news people would have us believe. Then again, even I must admit that those now displaced people are certainly well watered in many more ways than one.

If only I could get into my car and drive to a safer place, but there really is no safe way to get to that place. The rain is relentless, and wherever I go, my humble home, or whatever is left of it, might not be any better off than the tens of thousands of trees that are now good for nothing more than a Florida style bar-be-cue.

As if I don’t have enough to worry about, Hurricane Ivan sure looks like it has a Florida style vacation in mind. Dear God, may it have more success in it’s quest for a hotel or motel room. I surely wouldn’t bet my life on it. Unlike greenback or plastic paying customers, Hurricane Ivan has nothing to give but death and destruction.

Am I still bitter about the fact that I too was homeless on the 13th of March, in the year of our Lord of 1993? That storm came so fast and furious that the weather people never even bothered to give it a name. Then again, I suppose that, “No Name Storm,” is as good as any synonym for death and destruction. You should know how many names I had for it, but I’m not writing a novel. However, this might be my, “Last Will and Testament.” Can this truly be the last day of my life?

I planned to spend the last years of my life far away from snow and ice, but I truly ended up in a place that does nothing more than slice and dice each and every object upon it. That is, if we objects don’t first naturally kick the bucket.

What a truly huge mistake I made. After my last homeless experience, I sure as Hell don’t believe in them thousand points of light. I’d rather die outright, instead of spending another night in what they call a storm shelter. I got nothing but an ice cold floor for comfort.

Come to think of it, I did get something for a little more than nothing. A kindly Red Cross Volunteer gave me a barely warm cupful of the worst coffee that I ever drank and a half slice of boloney in between a halved slice of mostly air white bread. A Red Cross donation bucket was the biggest object on that dinner table.

What a truly mournful end for a body that gave more of itself than can rightly be expected from any Human Being. My tens of thousands of proudly given tax dollars did little more than pay for four undeclared wars.

Instead of a Florida style home, I should have bought myself a United States style war-surplus tank. Our once great Country is nothing more than a war zone. If the weather doesn’t get me, someone will.

If Hurricane Frances does wipe me out. well, I won’t be the last person who lost it all in this, “Land of Sunshine.” If I can’t afford that war-surplus tank, I guess that I’ll walk back to the place where I was born or die somewhere in between. Then, get laid out between a halved slice of mostly air white bread.