Keep the High in Hiatus

In the words of our dear departed pirate sage eternal frat boy Jimmy Buffet, yes, it’s been quite a summer.

Even with a good five-ish weeks left of nature’s broil setting, we have already experienced:

• A Debby Downer of a hurricane who showed up way too early in the season to be acting like some kind of main character

• A surprise presidential election handover that’s hyping up voters like an Adderall milkshake with bonus BDE (that’s Big Dad Energy, y’all) 

• An assassination attempt that sheared off part of the other presidential candidate’s ear and whatever was left of his lucidity, leaving his performative hillbilly VP choice to find out what happens when people finally stand up to the schoolyard bully (A word: Adore everything about Coach Walz except for how he’s ruined weird for all of us proud tender-hearted weirdos)

• Gold medals galore for our US athletes in Paris led by GOATS Simone and Katie, as well as participation trophies for the French pole vaulter who had his Olympic dreams dashed by his own penis, the middle-aged white lady breakdancer who is either a delusional troll or an absurd genius, and a 62 year-old testosterone-jacked movie star surviving his own stunts 

• Devastating flooding around the world and in our own backyards, stranding neighbors who still need basic help in spite of local leaders’ lameass lip service

• The hottest day on earth ever recorded, but hey how ‘bout them Dawgs?

Much more mayhem has transpired near and far, but my internal data processor seems to have fricasseed like a sun-fried cicada. Some are leaning into the deluge, pumping out analyses and keeping us informed: Savannah Agenda’s Eric Curl, SMN environmental reporter John Deem, and of course the one-man weather vane Chuck Watson of Enki Research are the true Olympians. Others are dealing with the circumstantial downpour with small talk or TikTok, or that old standby, drowning oneself in drink.

Me, I’m just trying to keep up with actual overflow. Namely the large pool of sludge water under the house that has my husband preoccupied with something called a “sump pump,” which unfortunately is not a sexy euphemism.  

I’ve been meaning to take some time off this summer, and while I’d hoped to spend it in a cute cabin up in the Blue Ridge mountains somewhere, now seems like the time to step away for a few weeks to let the mildew dry out. Do I mean the crawl space or my overloaded adrenal system? Yes. 

Rather than let myself sink lower than the Floridan aquifer after the new Hyundai plant sucks it up, I’m taking a little hiatus.  

For my word nerds, it’s kind of (pre-2024) *weird* that we use the term hiatus, which originally was specifically used to describe a gap or orifice in the body. This Latin relic morphed into more figurative contexts, coming to mean a “yawn” or “chasm” and eventually a prescribed stop in work or time. Speaking of literal yawning chasms though, you should see the disgusting soup pond eating away at our foundation. 

Anyway, go get yourself a Popsicle and stare out your humidity-fogged windows for a minute; I’ll be back tapping away after Labor Day. I do not expect the world to have calmed down at all by then, but I promise to return with a refreshed attitude and more Savannah-soaked stories. 

If you’ve just found me—perhaps you’ve followed the trail mix from GPB’s Narrative Edge podcast featuring public radio stalwart and always-and-forever Savannah karaoke star Orlando Montoya—scroll down for free reads to catch up on, and access even more by subscribing. 

You can also buy my books at your favorite independent local bookstore or via corporate megalodon. 

If you’re kicking around the Savannah cobblestones, please say heyhowyadoin when you see me, per my recent TEDx talk. And you can always reach me at savannahsideways@gmail.com. 

In the meantime, I hope you find a few chuckles here, there and everywhere, ‘cause—in the wisdom of that weirdo bard Jimmy Buffet—if we couldn’t laugh, we’d all go insane. 

Stay high and dry, y’all ~ JLL 

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