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I'm not much for administering advice; I'm not so steady, never quite managed the assurance it takes to unequivocally say you should definitely do this as opposed to well, have you thought about this, but last week I learned something important, and I finally, finally feel qualified to be unequivocal about this one thing:
If, God forbid, you are ever called upon to run pounding at a stranger's door at ten o'clock at night because something is AFLAME, a few helpful details are in order. Do not pound on the door and when the occupant opens it, half-sleepy and half-fearful and clutching at the dog to make sure no one's face gets eaten off, shriek THERE IS A FIRE YOU AND YOUR DOG NEED TO GET OUT and then make for the street at top speed. Because let me tell you, the sleepy/fearful occupant is going to assume that the fire is in her own house and her heart will STOP and almost not start up again when she steps out on the porch and sees the next door neighbor's place going up like it's been doused in kerosene.
Anyway. That is my advice to you.
In case you were wondering, this happened to me and various neighbors last week (I am cleverly disguised as the occupant in the above story). Everyone is okay, all pets and humans concerned are fine although somewhat shaken by the experience, no damage was done to any but the house originally afire -- a thing which depended mostly on the position of the fire and the windless summer night and our completely awesome fire department which I will never take for granted ever again -- and we neighbors on either side had to stay outside until we were told it was safe to go back in, at about one in the morning, and if I've spent the past week flinching at the slightest smell of smoke, which is still lingering in the air, by the way, that's nobody's business but my own.
I was talking to my father the day after the fire, and informed him that these near-miss almost-tragedies swooping within a few feet of my life and then whipping away again were wearing me right out, that I wanted them to stop. He said, well, would you rather they hit you direct? Be careful what you wish for, kid, and of course he has a point, but damn it, why are summers always so fucking exhausting?
:::
I've been spending my night tonight luxuriating in my air conditioning, which is working again after a couple of days not (why do air conditioners always seems to get tired on weekends?), and even though my house was built to circulate air, and even though my house never got too insanely hot, I am a fragile flower and thus am looking forward to trying to sleep tonight without melting down, in more ways than one. Goodnight, my dear ones.
If, God forbid, you are ever called upon to run pounding at a stranger's door at ten o'clock at night because something is AFLAME, a few helpful details are in order. Do not pound on the door and when the occupant opens it, half-sleepy and half-fearful and clutching at the dog to make sure no one's face gets eaten off, shriek THERE IS A FIRE YOU AND YOUR DOG NEED TO GET OUT and then make for the street at top speed. Because let me tell you, the sleepy/fearful occupant is going to assume that the fire is in her own house and her heart will STOP and almost not start up again when she steps out on the porch and sees the next door neighbor's place going up like it's been doused in kerosene.
Anyway. That is my advice to you.
In case you were wondering, this happened to me and various neighbors last week (I am cleverly disguised as the occupant in the above story). Everyone is okay, all pets and humans concerned are fine although somewhat shaken by the experience, no damage was done to any but the house originally afire -- a thing which depended mostly on the position of the fire and the windless summer night and our completely awesome fire department which I will never take for granted ever again -- and we neighbors on either side had to stay outside until we were told it was safe to go back in, at about one in the morning, and if I've spent the past week flinching at the slightest smell of smoke, which is still lingering in the air, by the way, that's nobody's business but my own.
I was talking to my father the day after the fire, and informed him that these near-miss almost-tragedies swooping within a few feet of my life and then whipping away again were wearing me right out, that I wanted them to stop. He said, well, would you rather they hit you direct? Be careful what you wish for, kid, and of course he has a point, but damn it, why are summers always so fucking exhausting?
:::
I've been spending my night tonight luxuriating in my air conditioning, which is working again after a couple of days not (why do air conditioners always seems to get tired on weekends?), and even though my house was built to circulate air, and even though my house never got too insanely hot, I am a fragile flower and thus am looking forward to trying to sleep tonight without melting down, in more ways than one. Goodnight, my dear ones.
