My barometer still works great! My nasty, fucked up ankle warned me of an approaching thunderstorm. Currently, the skies are darkening and Thor is getting ready for a throwdown. Cool. This is a good trick to have if we happen to be in a position to go camping. Nothing is worse than a soggy sleeping bag when you forget to zip up the vents on the top of the tent. Nothing, except maybe a sleeping bag full of spiders, or a hungry bear who waits in hiding by the toilet pit. Silly bears.
The bad news is that Whiz’s food supply has almost entirely metamorphosed into winged flying critters. Refrigerated moths are much easier to deal with than hopping crickets, but she doesn’t seem all that excited about eating them in their non-grubby state. Likely because moths are more difficult to catch than overweight worms.
Also, nearby lodging doesn’t have any vacancies. You know what this means. The evil is also arriving a day earlier than anticipated.
The only thing I’ve done for the greater good was taking out the trash and scraping together a roasted vegetable and chicken saute with plenty of leftovers to feed the MC. My efforts count for something, but not enough. The Christmas tree is still out and at this point, I think I should just leave it because December is right around the corner. There are still a bunch of storage totes that need to find their way back out to the garage, which can’t happen until I clear a space for them. Holy hell, so much crap.
I have to do that before I think about attempting to dust and mop, which both need to be done in a bad way. It smells fairly earthy in here, which is a kind way to say my house is really fucking dirty. I have my timeline all planned out (organize tomorrow, clean earrrrrly Friday) and I have to attempt a solo trip to the grocery store tomorrow evening to get foods that invaders might like to eat as well as some cleaning chemicals. I’m trying to pace myself as to not irritate my innards, so while I have high expectations that I’ll be able to complete these tasks within the allotted time frame, I can do some cleaning AROUND the aliens if I’m not finished before they arrive. Company or not, it needs to be done.
I got an offer to go RV camping with my parents in Vermont, and as awful as it sounds to be trapped inside of a tiny trailer with them for two weeks, being trapped here with the alien family sounds worse. I have a responsibility to stick around and be the only semi-sane person here. By the time I’d feel comfortable leaving him, my peeps will already be on their way back to Ohio. Let me reinforce how odd it is that I’d rather spend time with my Dad than put up with MC’s Mom.
Actually, I’d rather fuck off anywhere far far away from all of these people and take a nice, long vacation, but I’m not letting my fantasies run away with me. Yet.
I’ve moved slightly past the freak out stage and onto acceptance that the next two months of my life are going to require large amounts of fermented grape juice and therapy. Simultaneously. CBT – cognitive bordeaux therapy.