I can’t get my act together today. Except that I DID get my act together. I got up early, took my shower before Chance woke up, took care of Chance, got him dressed early, yadda yadda yadda. Last night I also moved all my clothes out of a closet into another room (not into another closet because we only have two and the other one is full), packed up the latest batch of Chance’s outgrown clothes, and Keen moved furniture for me. What brought on this surge of industriousness? Well, our ceiling and drywall damage is supposed to be repaired this week. They were supposed to be here between 8:30 and 9:00am this morning. It is now several hours after 9:00 and… THEY. ARE. NOT. HERE! Neither have they returned my phone calls to see if they are coming today. Grrrrr.
I’m in a bit of a rut. Or maybe an anti-rut. I swear I’ve started writing ten times and I just can’t get it together. My mind, she is befuddled. And waiting. Waiting for drywallers! I’m making that a new word. Drywaller. Or maybe a name. Maybe I’ll write a novel rife with angst and existential dilemmas all set against the backdrop of mundane, endless suburbia; a tragicomedy in one act. You’d buy that, right?
OK, I’ll stop whining now. – wg