This past week has been incredibly strange, and I feel like I’m living in a middle space where time isn’t moving; the only thing moving is this storm. Gustav came ashore today, but I was in Texas. N. and I left New Orleans on Saturday with my cats and her dog, our photo albums, and Very Important Papers. It has been an eerie experience, moving from Houston to College Station and today to Austin, unsure what’s happening back at home no matter how much news I watch or read. I can’t really process the numbness, the emptiness I’m feeling, even with the damage less than expected.

But I have yet to meet a difficult feeling that can’t be helped by Bruce Springsteen and bicycling, so I was thrilled when S. offered me her bike this afternoon in Austin. I put on my Ipod and clicked to Bruce’s unplugged version of Atlantic City and took off. This little Bianchi is light and swift, and Austin is a great town to ride in. It is so different from New Orleans. It’s in the hills. I smiled, genuinely, for the first time in days as I wheeee!d down hills and pumped back up. I stopped to kick back and rest for awhile in front of a UT building, catching my breath before zipping over to Texas Memorial Stadium. I snapped a few pictures and then looked up at the sky, cloudy and gray, and was reminded again that the sky at home is dangerous. I got back on the bike and headed to today’s home. I felt drops on my arms and face, but wasn’t sure if it was rain or sweat from my hilly ride. It turned out to be rain and I rode fast, racing the storm and beating it, as I have done so many times in summer thunderstorms back home. I want that bike ride back, and soon. Since Saturday, my overwhelming feeling has simply been that I want to go home. I want to go home. I am empty until I can go home.