Water, ice, gasoline and C-size batteries were the commodities to have this time. Jan, the deputy's sister, and I were roasting in the late-morning sun when the gear-shift went out in my eight-year-old Saturn coupe; we were waiting in an everlastingly long line that snaked around the perimeter of the Pike County Fairgrounds for free ice. And there were sickeningly long lines at the Super Wal-Mart, which had a generator up and running.

At Piggly Wiggly there was no electricity, so we had to wait to get in two or three at a time. And due to looting concerns, we weren't allowed to shop on our own. We submitted an order to the waiting clerk once we entered the darkened store, then waited as the items were retrieved for us.

On Sept. 1, I paid $2.99, plus tax, for a two-pack of Shur Fine C-cell batteries. This was highway robbery. I considered reporting to the Attorney General's Price Gauging Hotline but ultimately did not. Demand was high for these certain items and supply low. I saw mile-long gasoline lines in person for the first time in my life.

Baton Rouge radio station WIBR became my salvation, broadcasting news updates and providing a thoughtful forum for an increasingly frustrated, scared and battle-scarred populace of displaced New Orleanians.

"Refugees" was, in fact, the correct term for us because I sure felt like one until five weeks ago, when I finally moved into my own apartment. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be a homeowner and a business owner, then find yourself homeless overnight and out of business?

When the electricity came back on and my car's transmission had been fixed, I continued up Interstate 55 toward Carbondale, Ill., where a college buddy awaited. But first I needed to stop off in Memphis. The good people of Mississippi are kind and exceedingly polite, but they don't know squat about feeding vegetarians. I am vegan, and I hadn't eaten a vegetable or a hot meal in 12 or 13 days. I had also dropped at least five pounds, which I don't need to lose. I knew that if I made it to Memphis, I could eat.

One night crashing with my uncle, aunt and cousin in Memphis, Tenn., turned into 10 nights — 10 long, smoky nights in a two-bedroom, bath-and-a-half apartment with fellow evacuees.

When that got too psychologically and physically hectic, I moved on to a Holiday Inn. I spent 27 nights there, with the Red Cross and FEMA picking up the tab. Living in a hotel while my money was low was difficult, and I couldn't find a suitable apartment.

Finally I found a one-bedroom, gated-entry apartment, paid for out of my own pocket. I am in a six-month lease. I figured that would give me enough time to figure out what I'm going to do.