I have been watching you carefully this past week because you always struck me as a sneaky bitch. There was one night when I went to bed staring at the computer models showing that you might go any of 3 directions: To Florida, to the middle of the gulf coast or towards Texas. And then when I woke, up, the W of lines had beautifully merged together. All to Florida.
And look, I like Florida as much as the next guy, but there was a small part of me that was, well, really really relieved. I mean, I'm not like wishing you on Florida, I'm just saying, since you weren't super strong yet, hitting land would slow you down, and well, who the hell am I kidding? I just don't want you here. That's all. Florida is taking one for the team. And we appreciate it, really, we do.
And then today. What. the. hell.
You do not understand. You don't get to pick your path and then swing back around and change your mind. This is unacceptable. We will not stand for it, it will not be tolerated. You need to back the hell off and turn that shit around.
Do you hear me? TURN AROUND. I have way too much going on in my life right now to worry about you too, there simply aren't enough anxiety medications or compartments of my brain to store this many worries. There just aren't, so you I'm turning the tables. You evacuate. You get away. I promise you that we won't stand for this and we are a much scarier force of nature than you could ever hope to be.
In conclusion, turn around, disappear, or else. And by or else, I mean, or else you will single handedly be responsible for the complete losing of my shit.