The cats are still sick, and one of them is acting like a total maniac. I have to dose the other two with medication so much that they've taken to living permanently under the bed, and I have to traumatize them further to get them out to take their medication. They are never going to come near me again.
The child is still restive and demanding.
The Man is still away, and annoyed with me for insisting he come back and give me a break so that I can start my week back at work a little less insane than I was before I went on holiday.
The washing machine, full of sheets and mattress pads, overflowed with suds.
The playtent we bought less than a week ago was "played" with a little too hard and is now useless for its intended purpose.
The rain is still falling.
What's a girl to do?
Leonard Cohen.
And more beanbags.
Life is always a comedy, it's just sometimes a black one.
(No, that wasn't him, that was me.)
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