If John Prine wrote a song about the current state of my house, it would be called “Craphole.” (And he’d probably add something else in there about a wounded veteran hooked on heroin or a sad girl working at a laundromat.)
Nothing in my life is operating at 100% efficiency right now.
My car CD player doesn’t work; my BlackBerry ball is stuck; both toilets run constantly; the kitchen tap, basement and bladder leak (and my roof is next;) my computer has more viruses than a sailor on shore leave; my home phone crackles; the hot tub has a partial dead squirrel in it; my nose is STILL broken; my favourite purple shiny flats blew a seam; the screen door is ripped; there’s a broken fridge AND stove in my driveway; and the hedges need trimming but I sliced through the extension cord last time I cut them and C says I will electrocute myself if I attempt my alternate plan which was to string together all 16 of my interior extension cords. He’s very unadventurous, and frankly, not much of a problem solver.
Last week I forgot garbage day so I have compost rotting in my laundry room; ants have taken over the patio; most of my picture frames are propped up with tomato paste cans; the back is falling off my bedroom armoire; the bathroom sink plug is gone (I don’t know where it went but it likely ran away and I don’t blame it one single bit;) and the refrigerator runs as smoothly as a 1985 Hyundai Pony.
If it weren’t for the duct tape and cable ties holding this house together, I’d be typing this from a low-budget campground using stolen internet. AND MAYBE I AM.
Last week I received an email from the University I graduated from in April informing me the gown for my convocation ceremony will be $25 to rent.
That is exactly what I have earned since I graduated.
I am trying to remain optimistic. Things will get better. Meanwhile, wine helps. And bitching. Lots and lots of bitching. C bears the brunt of this. I like his feedback for the most part, and he’s fairly astute in his summations:
Me; putting the gazebo covering on for the first time this year, and discovering that it is ripped: “WHY? WHY IS EVERYTHING BROKEN, DENTED, GOT HALF A DEAD THING IN IT, MISSING TWO PIECES, RUSTED, SHIT ON BY BIRDS, INFESTED WITH ANTS, CRACKED, DIRTY OR JUST PLAIN GONE TO SHIT?”
“Simple, Jeni. It’s because God hates us.”
“What? Why would God hate us? “
“BECAUSE WE ARE HORRIBLE PEOPLE. “