Now it's just getting silly.
While I was out having a pleasant 'take your mind off things' evening with some friends, I got a phone call from X. This didn't engender happy shiny feelings, because after the week I've had, a call from home is looked upon as a harbringer of doom.
It was.
X. spoke: "Remember that door between your bedroom and the back room?" Have you ever noticed how 'remember' is not a good word to hear in conjunction with household fixtures? Yeah. I allowed that perhaps I had noticed the door which has been present in the house since we originally moved in, and it was presented to me that this door -- a very important part of my bedroom -- was no longer there.
Why not? I ventured to ask. Well apparently, S. (the other roommate) had managed to walk into the door at just the right angle, thus shattering the glass and bringing the whole damn thing down. I was assured that this was very interesting to watch, and that it was a pity I had missed it. Also that they'd get the glass off my floor.
Riiiiiight.
As Jeanne put it: the year has gone plaid. This week has hit the point where it can't even be tragic anymore, because I am now crying so hard that I have to laugh my ass off. I'm starting to feel like someone's trying to send me a message by breaking things (my livelihood, my dog, my privacy...) until I sit down and pay attention.
I'm paying attention, okay?
Now start talking.
It was.
X. spoke: "Remember that door between your bedroom and the back room?" Have you ever noticed how 'remember' is not a good word to hear in conjunction with household fixtures? Yeah. I allowed that perhaps I had noticed the door which has been present in the house since we originally moved in, and it was presented to me that this door -- a very important part of my bedroom -- was no longer there.
Why not? I ventured to ask. Well apparently, S. (the other roommate) had managed to walk into the door at just the right angle, thus shattering the glass and bringing the whole damn thing down. I was assured that this was very interesting to watch, and that it was a pity I had missed it. Also that they'd get the glass off my floor.
Riiiiiight.
As Jeanne put it: the year has gone plaid. This week has hit the point where it can't even be tragic anymore, because I am now crying so hard that I have to laugh my ass off. I'm starting to feel like someone's trying to send me a message by breaking things (my livelihood, my dog, my privacy...) until I sit down and pay attention.
I'm paying attention, okay?
Now start talking.