The bathroom sink leaks.
The Husband duct taped key pipe points to tide us over until he has time to do a proper fix over the weekend.
Until then, there's a bucket under the sink to catch water.
After brushing my teeth, I heard drips hitting what was starting to sound like a deep collection of water.
So I pulled out the bucket to empty it.
I dumped it... in the sink.
See. This is why it took me three years to complete my junior year of college.
Thursday, May 04, 2017
The bathroom sink leaks.
Wednesday, May 03, 2017
...how much I hate group projects?
Everyone in my group graduates next week, so their level of caring what grade we get on our final project is zero.
Just crash my grade point into the ground on your way out the door, why dontcha?
I'm so sorry.
This blog used to be much funnier.
But I swear people used to suck much less.
With love, from Roses at 5:52 PM
Sunday, April 30, 2017
The Husband was reviewing the progress of his plants on the seed-starting table when we had this exchange:
He: I need to thin my melons...
Me: That's... what *she* said?
He: ...or put them in a bigger container.
Me: THAT's what SHE said!
Thursday, April 27, 2017
I want to remember this one.
I am dreaming.
I am at the home where I grew up. There is smoke in the distance. It is somewhere downtown. I walk there. By the time I arrive at the scene of the fire, my dad is with me.
The sign on the burning building is "Bait and Tackle". I want to take a picture and post it on Facebook so everyone else who can see the smoke will know what is on fire.
But I don't have my phone. I think I left it at home.
I tell my dad that I have to go home and get my phone. He doesn't hesitate; he's seen all he came to see, and he comes with me.
As we walk home, we are talking. On the way, I realize Mom is walking silently just behind Dad's shoulder. Walking with us as if she had come along to see what the smoke was and now that she has seen it, she is content to just be with us.
"Dad, Mom is here!" I bubble at him. Then I remember Mom has died. "You can see Mom, can't you?"
He can't. He asks me what she looks like.
I turn to look at her. I see she is happy and young, and I can't wait to tell Dad that her hair hasn't even turned gray yet.
Before I can tell him, though, I remember Dad has also died and realize that this visit with Dad has also been only a dream.
As the dream fades into the next one, I hear someone laughing a wonderful, sincerely happy, full laugh. The air fills with many voices laughing, and I realize the first person who had laughed had been me.
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
The Husband is catching up on a few seasons of The Walking Dead.
As usual, I've been paying only enough attention to what he's watching to know what the show is. So, when I do stop and focus on a scene or two, I make snap judgements that may or may not be relevant to the story line.
Yeah, I yell at the screen and try to tell characters what to do.
But of course they don't do it.
After several outbursts (which The Husband patiently and quietly endures), I turn to this man of mine and blurt, "If this was happening to you and me, things would turn out differently."
He considers for a moment my inability to climb a flight of stairs without panting and his own reluctance to shoot me in the head if I were to "go zombie", and he says, "Honey, I'm not sure we'd last six seasons."
"Baby," I tell him, "so far, we've lasted 25 seasons."
He smiles and gives me a BIG hug.
Happy Anniversary to us!
25 years, baby!
With love, from Roses at 7:00 AM
Thursday, April 06, 2017
I told you about the awesome library job I really, really wanted.
They were under a time crunch to fill the position, so I knew that if I didn't hear from them on the following Monday or Tuesday, I didn't get it.
I didn't hear from them on Monday or Tuesday. Or Wednesday.
Or Thursday or Friday.
You and I both know I didn't get it. But some stupid, tiny part of me still held onto hope even though I knew better.
The part of me that knew better mourned my loss over the weekend, and by Monday, I had convinced myself that I was okay keeping the job I already had. It's not a bad job; it's just a dead end job that's not completely fulfilling. But it's not bad. (Work with me, I'm trying to deal with the cards I've been dealt.)
The day I should have been handing in my two weeks' notice, a co-worker in my department handed in hers.
Seriously? She gets to leave, but I don't?
(No, she did not get the job I had applied for, but for a horrifying moment, I was afraid she had.)
Fast forward to yesterday.
I had just started again to convince myself again that I was okay keeping the job I already had. Since my co-worker had handed in her two week's notice, our manager had announced he was restructuring the department, and my dead end, unfulfilling job would change a little bit, and it might just be interesting and a little challenging, and yeah, I might be just fine with keeping the job I had.
That's when another co-worker handed in her notice.
Sh!t. Someone else gets to leave and I don't? That's a punch to the gut.
Jump to today.
A third co-worker in my department handed in his notice.
Everyone gets to leave but me?
Then, and only just THEN, I received my official, impersonal, "thanks, but no thanks" form letter email from the library making it official that I.am.going.no.where.
I struggled to make it through the day without crying in front of anyone.
And about 15 minutes ago a cousin messaged me to let me know an aunt of ours died.
If you need me, I'll be the huddled mass on the couch hugging a blanket and a bottle of whatever adult beverage The Husband has stored where I can reach it.
Oh, and hey.
The United States just dropped bombs on Syria .
So fnck me for whining about my petty problems, right?
Friday, March 17, 2017
By the time you read this, I'll be in a job interview hoping to become the next public relations employee at my local library system.
I've been wanting this job ever since I learned of its existence 10 years ago.
I've been preparing for this interview since the position opened up 3 1/2 weeks ago.
We're all writers here in blog world.
We are all about the stories.
How awesome would it be to work where your entire day revolves around promoting reading?
Wish me well.
About now, I'm introducing myself and explaining how I fell in love with libraries at age 7 when the neighbor girl said to me, "It's craft day at the library! Do you wanna come?"
I did not get the library job. Rookie mistake: I was so focused on telling them how perfect the job was for me that I forgot to tell them why they should hire me.
To add insult to injury, just as I was becoming okay with keeping my current job, today, when I should have been giving my two weeks' notice, my favorite co-worker gave hers.
She's leaving; I'm not.
Today I had a sad.
With love, from Roses at 10:00 AM
Thursday, March 09, 2017
(Dialogue delivered rapid-fire over dinner.)
He: Been feeling pretty good lately.
Me: Do you think it's the vitamins you've been taking?
He: That, and the sun has been out.
Me: That *is* nice.
He: Yeah, the snow has melted and no one uncovered the body.
Me: "The" body. Just one? Must've been a slow winter.
(Dialogue delivered somewhat slurred after I followed The Husband into the basement.)
He: Are you drunk on half a glass of wine?
Me: I think I *am* a little tipsy. I didn't remember our house having a spiral staircase.
I feel like there should be a third humorous conversation here.
But sadly I don't have another.
Do you have one to add here? Post it in a comment!
Sunday, March 05, 2017
While upstairs watching TV, I suddenly realize there's music from the 1960's playing in the basement where I know the boys are deeply engrossed in shoot 'em up video games.
I listen for a moment, and it occurs to me that the boys have actually *chosen* a style of music The Husband had been listening to earlier.
This makes me melt a little to think the boys can still be positively influenced by things their parents do.
So, I go downstairs to hug them.
They each look up from their computer screens to see what I want. I simply look at the radio that's playing in the corner, and them I look at them.
"Yeah, can you turn that off?" one of them asks.
"It just came on by itself," says the other.
Ah. Now I understand.
The Husband had scrounged up an old clock radio from the garage yesterday. It was this apparatus that had been tuned in to his favorite radio station earlier today. When he turned it off, he had accidentally set the alarm.
When the music popped on as scheduled, both boys had been too busy shooting aliens to get up and turn it off.
So much for my warm, melty heart.
I turn off the radio as requested.
But there's a pretty good chance I only pressed the snooze button.
With love, from Roses at 9:27 PM
Monday, February 13, 2017
The Husband and I had gotten separated, so I had to backtrack through the store to find him.