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Moonlight, you’re just a heartache in disguise

Shawshank, August 15, 2020August 15, 2020

Ok, happy Saturday. Didn’t have the greatest of sleeps, especially when you’re dreaming that you’re getting shock treatment. That, and mentally rearranging your bedroom at 2am. Usually, I fall right asleep. Last night for some reason, I was changing oil on a truck that I don’t own. But wished I owned. I’m in farm country now, and while I’d like a sports car, I’m looking for an older model Ford F-150 (1977-1989), or an El Camino. Then I was either too hot to be under the blankets, or too cold to be on top. Then it depended on which side I slept on wether or not I could breathe. Good times.

So I got up this morning, made some coffee, and then I got to work moving my room around. And funny enough, it was essentially exactly how I pictured it in my mind at 2am. Then my mom wanted a tapestry put up, so dad and I did that. My gramma found a mirror that she wanted hung, so I hung that.

Then, I vacuumed, steam-cleaned the floor in the living room, and hallway. I swept and steamed the bathroom floor, and sprayed down the shower with Scrubbing Bubbles. Once Shady Acres goes down for their afternoon nap, I’ll sweep and steam the kitchen floor. It’s been a busy morning.

So pretty much all I’ll really have to do later is make my bed. Everything that I’ve wanted to do is pretty much done. And I got 90% of it done before 10 am. Tonight, before bed, I’ll hop in the shower, so I’m clean to get in the clean bed. Other than the above, I don’t have anything else to do.

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Comment

  1. crystal says:
    August 18, 2020 at 10:00

    Of course, it’s company policy to never imply ownership.
    Like this:Like Loading…

    It’s funny how things have adjusted without Shawshank here. Some things are pretty noticeable. The water bill is half of what it was, as is gas for the Hot Mess Express, and groceries. Unfortunately, Hermit Girl is a fucking slob. Without Shawshank here to push me to clean and keep me from wallowing in my own filth, the house is in a perpetual state of disarray. Say what you will about how I’m doing awesome for doing it alone, the house is still a pig sty.

    But, I’ve noticed something else lately. Whenever I talk about the house, I never imply ownership. It’s never my house, because it was always our house. We made this our home, together, and it was just as much mine as it was his. At the same time, it’s no longer our house. The person who helped to make it our house isn’t here. I feel like it’s no longer worthy of that title.

    Instead, it’s always the house now.

    And I hate the way that feels.
    Related posts:A Little Bit LonelyLonelinessRelax.Like this:Like Loading…

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