I’ve always hated really windy storms. I don’t particularly care for thunder storms either but I can mentally process THAT noise, but wind? I’m as much a wimp about wind as Daisy is about the vacuum cleaner. Growing up, my bedroom was in the back of the house. In the yard we used to have a HUGE palm tree that I think was at least 2-3 stories high. When the Santa Ana winds or a really bad windy storm would hit, that blasted tree would sway and loudly creak. It used to cause me massive panic in my youth that it would suddenly snap and come crashing through the roof of my bedroom. When the Northridge earthquake hit in 95, our backyard wall and awning fell so my folks decided to gut the tree thankfully. But ever since then, I now go into full panic mode about really huge gusts of wind.
Here in CA we’re finally getting some proper rain and last night was an intense storm that felt like the world outside was trying to get in. It was so bad I could hear the vent over the stove rattling. So of course, this triggered a panic attack. Haven’t had one of those bastards in awhile. It probably hit because I’m alone this week as Hubby is on a business trip. I locked myself and Daisy in the bedroom, blared Sherlock on my laptop while I did some drawings hoping to subside the anxiety. But once I noticed it was almost 1 am, I decided to go to bed. The storm had died down so I figured I’d be okay.
Apparently, my brainmeats didn’t get the memo! It started spinning about me dying, the weight on my chest turned into a boulder, the heart started running a marathon, and I started crying. Managed to after about an hour of deep breaths and mentally screaming at myself to go the fuck to sleep, my brainmeats decided to chill the fuck out.
So yeah, fuck you wind. You suck AND you blow. Eat a bowl of dicks wind.