I applied to be an election judge. Not sure how that’ll work out, unless I’ve figured out respite care/babysitter candidates for E by then. But I’m looking forward to making it work.
We are closing in to closing day. Every night (or morning, I guess) at three a.m., when a fucking train rattles past the crossing and the fucking conductor lays on the train horn for way longer than I ever hear from the kinder, more sensible daytime conductors, and I throttle my pillow and imagine all kinds of improbable revenge* and count down the days to closing. We are so so so close.
Speaking of being so so so close to moving, the dog decided that today was a great day to throw up all over the apartment carpet. I spent most of a bottle of Resolve and we might not have to lose our deposit. I suspect she noticed the return of the dreaded cardboard box piles, and her bone china tummy reacted accordingly, producing gallons of anxious sweet-dog bile. ARGH DOG.
Watched the Hugo Awards unfold on Twitter while I folded laundry and listened for E. When I see those lovely shiny rocket ships, I feel a twinge of pity for anyone who thinks that a fist bump with a douchebag is better than getting one of those. Ah, well — maybe they can make their own douchebag award.
* Leaving things on the track doesn’t seem to faze anyone these days, as the kids in my neighborhood have found out. I have seen shards of many a sad, wasted watermelon all over the road. But perhaps a miniature trebuchet? And since I have a regular supply of dirty diapers from E, I have plenty of ammo. Just gotta work on the aim.