I am a chronic worrier. Since I was a kid. I remember my fourth grade teacher telling my parents I worried more than all the mothers of my classmates combined. My fifth grade teacher (who was also a Mortician) told my parents that if I didn't stop worrying, I would be consumed. You can only think of what my vivid 5th grade imagination made that phrase mean.
As life went on, life got good. I ended up with lots of nice what-nots and pieces of momento-mori. A home filled with lovely things.
Right now, I am taking preservation management, and have become obsessed with emergeny planning. A dear friend lost his family home in Kingston, Jamaica thanks to Ivan. Another friend lost her home to fire last week. In a nutshell, I had to ask myself, "Am I prepared for disaster?" I surprised myself with a resounding "no".
So, I joined the ranks of the insured. I now have a substantial amount of renters insurance. A neighbor told me she paid "about 100 dollars a year". I went to the same place. After the assessment of my property..lets just say my insurance costs a lot more than 100 dollars a year. Damn deco leather furniture. Damn Johnson Brothers china for 8. Damn original art work. Damn expensive taste. But at least my disaster plan is part way there. As of now, I figure come fire or flood...the cats will get shoved in pillow cases along with a family album, my cufflink/watch box, and my prayer shawl. Oh yeah. I'll grab my boyfriend too.
So, my next step in disaster planning is creating a catalogue of my belongings. Thank G-d for Excel. Ooooh, maybe I'll venture into the world of Cindex. It even sounds sexy.
Moral of this blog: I need a cigarette right now. I can't even think of disaster planning!!!