I've just discovered how to make sure I don't have to fill the kettle first thing in the morning: be the last person to fill it at night. Yup, another long day. You know, it's hard to get eight hours sleep when one isn't even home for eight hours. Imagine what I could have done with those 63 hours of unpaid overtime. That's two weeks. Two weeks of housework, weeding, reading, writing, walks in the park. No wonder my room is awash with piles o'crap that needs sorting and throwing out. No wonder books and fic haven't been cracked open this year, and it's nearly bloody June. I have no life. Mope.
Still, I decided to screw 'em, all of them, and take a hefty thirty minutes to myself. Read some fic, formatted a submission to the Sharpetorium (yipee) and wrote two paragraphs of my very own. And managed to kill off a beloved character in one of those two paragraphs. Heh, well, I'm having a year, I don't see why anyone else should have a good time.
And, just to prove that nothing in my life is ever simple, let me now relate to you, gentle reader, how merely changing the sheets became an exercise in horror...
You see, it's cold, damn cold, the coldest winter I've shivered through in years. Well, okay, it's still warmer that what passes for summer in some places but it's all a matter of degrees and what you're used to. I was cold, too cold to sleep and I had no more old blankets to throw on the growing heap that were already piled on my bed. So I decided to fetch the old fluffy flannel sheets that I'd not used in years. So I trot off to the linen closet and pull down the piled up sheets which are on the very top shelf.
Eeew! as I realise it's covered in, I mean absolutely covered in, bits of old cockroach. Then I realise it wasn't a cockroach graveyard, it was a roach charnel house, with bits of old meals and something stashed for later. It was a huntsman's nest. Words fail me so I have to turn to the works of Joss Whedon for a heartfelt NYGAH!
Bro hears my NYGAH! and dutifully trots up to see what's amiss. I thrust the offending sheets at him and that's when they move, something large and dark scrabbles within the folds, as the cranky occupant starts demanding that we put his fekking home back - now.
Hunstman: "Put me back this instant, you cretins! Can't a spider get some peace?"
So we kick the inhabited, still folded sheets into the kitchen (because the laundry is where the outside loo used to be and like hell am I going out when it's cold, dark and scary) so we leave the sheets in the kitchen, hoping the occupant will relocate.
Heh, I left it there, so they get to deal with it this morning. Hee. One can only hope Mr Huntsman has moved on in disgust.
So, anyway, that was the saga of me changing my sheets. Other than that I just watched Oz and, as it was sans Keller, about five minutes of SVU before I fell asleep in front of the tv. The joys of having an old 80s tv in my bedroom. Alas, there's no timer so this means I wake up to the Love Boat. Eeeep.
A limo! I get a limo! It's not quite a sports car through Paris, but I'll bloody take it, thanks! :) And it means I can pack the fancy shoes I bought on Sunday. Well, okay, they're just PayLess, but they're fancy for me, wot looks like Silent Bob having an off day.
Heh. I have work up the wazoo, recalcitrant servers and even less cooperative elders and betters and I just don't care. I have tickets and the turkeys can't get me down. So if you don't hear from me for a couple of days, I'll just be having one of those, what do they call them...a life. Yeah, that's it. I'll be off doing and away from the desk for a few days. Whee!
Ack, less whoo now. It's exhausting being eight people all at once. The emails and phone calls never stop...