I'm at my house/ the house we're going to sell/ my former home/ place where my wonderful neighbours still live. I'm here because I have to clean/ vacuum/ scrub/ cry/ put things in garbage bags/ complain/ cry/ touch up/ repaint and generally pretty up the place.
Honestly, except for the chance to catch up with neighbours and go to my writers group, I'd rather be flinging horse manure. Haven't I done enough here? I have painted EVERY WALL IN THIS HOUSE. It took 12 1/2 years, and most of it's been done in the last 6 months, but seriously, haven't I done enough primping and fixing in this house?
Isn't it perfect enough already????
Anyways. Catch watch the Limpics because the TV got moved to the farm. I do have Mac White, so I can look up big Olympic news.
I have The PUG to keep my company. He keeps spinning out on the beautiful freshly sanded and varnished hardwood floors, which convinces me all over again that he is valuable for comic relief.
And speaking of which...
That's my son Bucky the Nerd, last weekend, flailing around like a slippery Pug. He was blinded by the brightness of that amazingly shiny floor. You know, it kind of makes me feel like after all this work we should just jack up this house, load it on a truck and ship it out to the sticks... but not.
Because that just sounds like too much damn work.
Well, I have procrastinated enough and must continue putting sawdust into bags. I'M NOT BITTER ABOUT THIS.
Okay maybe I am just a little.
But I'll get over it.
I will just sigh heavily and accept the fact that living in a house means fixing a house, and that someday I'll have a house to call my own again. And I'm sure it'll be a slightly rundown little old farmhouse that I will love, and I will never be wealthy enough to make it look this perfect. All I can hope for is that selling this house will soon get us into one with some land attached.
Also I have learned an important lesson.
DO NOT SAND A FLOOR UNLESS THE HOUSE IS EMPTY.
And always have extra vacuum cleaner bags handy.