pellets.

There are ice pellets raining down on my roof, on my car, on the street, and probably on some poor squirrels, birds, and cats (all confused, by the way). Because this shouldn't happen in Florida, according to all us Floridians at least. This is weird, this is strange. And then there are the few that think this might be the best day ever. And how pretty all this ice looks, broken on the pavement. Well, bah to that. Oh, how the Earth must be laughing.

No work today. Or what I said to Peter this morning: "They cancelled me. I mean, they cancelled work. I mean, what the heck is going on?" We throw hurricane parties for heavens sake. We throw our beer in canvas bags, maybe grab an umbrella (maybe not), get in our cars, and DRIVE to a hurricane party, where we all giggle about how awesome the hurricane is, and we drink our beers and take our shots then very irresponsibly DRIVE home. In the HURRICANE. And ice pellets incapacitate our entire town. Not winds of however many miles, not thrashes of rain flooding our streets, but ice pellets.

Ice pellets.