My brilliant plans all shot and it’s only 3 days into the New Year!
Okay, so it’s not all that dramatic.
Here’s the bad news: My hubby and I have done the math and we won’t be able to move back into our house this year. I could tell you and tell you, but I don’t think anyone would really get how absolutely depressed this makes me. (We’re talking I kept a straight face while we talked about it, then promptly busted out into tears two seconds later. And I’m not a huge crier…much.)
So we talked to Susie, my dear and giving mother, and she doesn’t mind if we stay at her place for another year so we can start saving enough to get the hell out. She also graciously said that we could give Owen her room since she stays over at her ‘man-friend’s house most of the time. Read: We see her once a week if we’re lucky.
In the spirit of the thing, my husband went a little crazy and decided we needed to start moving everything NOW this VERY SECOND. (He really wants to have a room separate from the baby, and with Owen in Susie’s old room, Bryce goes into Owen’s old room in the musical dance of the rooms.)
The result is that the house has exploded. You see, when someone has had their room for fifteen years, they accumulate what I like to call stuff. Owen’s only been around for 7 years and has accumulated his own fair share of stuff. Shifting stuff from one area to another is not as easy as you would assume. And we decided to repaint the place while we were at it (May as well raise some property value while we’re at this, right? It’s the least we can do for Susie–which means we’re also retiling the bathroom floor and installing a new sink.)
Right now, the single clean room in the whole place is Owen’s room. What does this mean?
Well, it means Owen has a cool new space.
It also means that the only part of my computer I can find at the moment is my keyboard. I can’t even see the words as I’m typing them. Am I making sense? I don’t know. Basically it boils down to this: Time spent cleaning this disaster will eat into my writing goals for this month, which were extensive, even if I didn’t post them this go-round.
Can I get a hair-pulling AUGHHHHH!?
Jenny writes dark fiction that her mother hates. Her stories and essays have appeared in Across the Margin, Pantheon, Shimmer, Black Denim Lit, Skive, and others. When she’s not writing her own stuff, she’s reading mysteries for Criminal Element. When she’s not writing fiction or reviews, she’s writing/directing/performing/designing plays at Springs Ensemble Theatre.