The Day After.

So after finally calming down enough to get to sleep at 4:00 this morning, the alarm going off at 5:00 was my enemy.

I turned on the morning news to see what kind of reports were coming in. Much to my dismay, classes were still in session. So I forced myself to get up and prepare myself to go to school. My head was swimming and my equilibrium felt very off, but I attempted to shrug it off.

Classes were on as normal and went on as normal, with the exception of my Art History class, which was cancelled due to the downtown campus (which serves primarily the liberal arts) being damaged, requiring my professor to be there instead of on the main campus. But I was exhausted and didn't want to be there. I was never so glad to hear the words, "See you on Wednesday."

Lunch today was a "tater tot casserole:" seasoned hamburger meat layered with cream of mushroom soup, tater tots, and grated cheese. It was really good, but sat heavy in my stomach... and heavy foods make Dani a very sleepy person. So I laid down for a very hard (and much wanted) two-hour nap. Waking up was a nasty affair, however, as my body responded very negatively and left me dizzy, disoriented, sore, and confused for quite some time.

I get the feeling my body is still recovering from the adrenaline rush that I experienced during those frightening ten minutes of silence the night before, atop severe mental distress, sleep-deprivation, and surgery-related anemia. Sitting upright was a chore; walking downstairs was nearly a disaster.

Dad was working to drain the pool tarp, so I decided to sit outside in the backyard with him. I kept looking up at the sky -- beautiful shade of light blue, not a cloud to be found, gentle breeze, wonderfully sunny and mild -- finding it terribly ironic that the weather was so beautiful just hours after a stormy nightmare. It was surreal in a sense that maybe only I could make myself believe. Dad finished his tasks in the yard and started for the front yard. Curiously, I followed after him.

"Get in the truck," he instructed. I quickly hopped into the Explorer, neglecting to even bother running into the house long enough to get a pair of shoes. I knew where we were going... I had both a feeling of childish excitement, but also a feeling of surreal guilt. The excitement outweighed the guilt, however, and we chatted about the storm while driving towards the destruction.

For the most part, we found very little on the roads that were actually passable -- a few trees down here or there; a few large branches laying in the street. But as we turned a corner on our way towards the news station, we seemed to strike the proverbial motherlode. It had to have been one of the many "ground zero" locations of the EF2 tornado that ripped through the town. Massive trees lay strewn about the place as if they were simply toothpicks that had been flicked aside. A power line was snapped in half and laying in the middle of the road. A roof was missing half of its shingles. A plant nursery was completely decimated... ceramic figures were smashed to bits everywhere. Street signs were bent and snapped. A billboard was damaged.

It sent another wave of surreal guilt through my core -- this one nearly nauseating. All of the damage we found was located all of eight minutes from the house. All of that destruction could have easily been my neighborhood... my street could've been packed with rubberneckers, utility vehicles, and emergency vehicles. I wish I would've taken a camera to take photos of all of it. It was a stunning slap of reality that reminded me just how lucky I wound up being.

I think my mind is still in that state of, "Did it really happen? Am I dreaming, perhaps? This doesn't happen here." I admit that last night, I got a bit cocky. When the sirens sounded, I was reminded of just ten nights ago. Ten nights ago, the sirens sounded twice, but the worst we received was marble-sized hail and loud thunder.

But ten nights ago, Daddy was there with me the whole time. Ten nights ago, a tornado didn't ravage through the city I grew up and live in.

It just goes to show you that yes, it can happen.

The power, fury, and selectiveness of nature is very frightening, and deserves every ounce of the respect and fear it is given. Perhaps it's owed more.