Sorry I missed last week. Let’s just say that the last six weeks have been…what’s the word…discombobulating. Yep, that’s the word, if that means slapped silly by life on the straightaways AND the roundabouts.

So I get back from the conference in time for the funeral and the doctor’s appointments, and since I pay my bills automatically every first of the month I’m not taking any time to paw through the usual round of low-rate mortgage proposals and credit-card-with-0%- interest-for-the-first-six-months offers. Finally, several days later, I sit with the mail and the shredder.

And there it is. A simple little brochure with one of those quarter-sized sticky dot closings. The kind that you get on Christmas and Valentine cards from eleven-year-olds, except this is white and antiseptic looking. It’s the space where the sender’s address usually is that grabs me.

Just a little smaller than the sticky dot, the seal of the Department of Homeland Security.

Well, fuck, they finally found me, it’s my first thought. Then another: Don’t be a dumbass, dumbass. Why the fuck would the Department of Homeland Security be interested in a middle-aged librarian? Please note the stress level here; I don’t use the f-word in general conversation, preferring to reserve it for conversations requiring extreme emphasis or insult.

Then I look closer. FEMA. Now, that’s a little more logical. FEMA is a major player in South Florida due to the amount of money they shell out regularly in hurricane season. OK, so what does FEMA want?

FEMA (and by extension its boss, the DHS) want to warn me that I have no flood insurance, and that “for less than $500 a year” I could have complete coverage. Kindly, they remind me that although I have all other home insurances, I am missing that key essential part of South Florida coverage, and that I cannot rely on them for recouping any losses; FEMA coverage only applies if the governor declares a state of emergency and governors do so in less than 10% of emergencies. FEMA urges me to contact any of the appropriate providers and acquire coverage.

Now, here’s the first thing. My house is not in a flood area. My house, in fact, perches on coral (in order to have a garden I have had to truck in several hundred square yards of top soil, as fifteen inches down you start hitting some of the hardest bloody rock in the world). It’s the highest point in the neighborhood, and it sits right in front of the largest water pump in the area. If my garage floor gets wet, then the rest of the neighborhood has taken to swimming. So, by state rules, I don’t need flood coverage. If I get flooded, the whole freaking Coral Ridge area is a disaster zone of major proportions.

And the second thing. The governor of this state is the President’s brother, and this state is a major player in Republican politics. What are the odds that Jeb would not declare an emergency in the case of a major hurricane?

AND the third thing. WHY THE HELL ARE FEMA AND THE DHS WORRYING ABOUT WHETHER PEOPLE HAVE ENOUGH INSURANCE? For Christ’s sake, I sit not so far away from a nuclear power plant, and a former Air Force base (and yes, for those of you familiar with South Florida I pretty much told you where I live). A hour or so drive’s away north is a major port–and another, minor but still used, one about the same distance south.

I have yet to receive any communication from ANYBODY about security in any of those areas.

People, I think we are F-U-C-K-E-D. Take that with a great deal of emphasis.