A Boring Account of My Day, and Potential Last Words

This week has been tough. And not even tough because anything bad happened or because of illness or misfortune. It's just been tough because I'm a spoiled little baby, and after having 17 days off of work, I found it very hard to transition back into real life--which includes getting up in the morning, wearing pants that don't have an elastic waist, and actually having real responsibilities again, both at home and at school. What! You mean my entire life can't be devoted to watching Mad Men and making waffle cones?! That's rubbish!

So from Monday through Wednesday I was a complete worthless blob. I would go to school and try to muster up energy to be good while there, and then I'd come home and take a coma nap. The coma naps were getting progressively longer, and by the time I woke up from Wednesday's 4-hour one, I knew I had to make a change. But then I didn't want to, and I instead talked to Matt and ate burgers (from the new grill) and watched tv and laughed and tried my hardest to ignore the messy house and the fact that I would have to get up again in the morning. I hate getting up in the morning. I prefer to exit slumber in the early afternoon. (True fact. If I had my druthers, I'd stay up until 4 a.m. and sleep until noon every day.)

So yesterday was my day to be active. And, boy, was I! I went shopping and bought these, the perfect trouser pants from Gap that I'd had my eye on since September. (Shoot yeah, 50% off clearance prices!)

 and here I am wearing them

And I got this shirt, which is kind of like a fancy robe.

I also went to the grocery store and accidentally broke the bag and dropped my loaf of sourdough French bread in the middle of the parking lot. And I ate it anyway. And it was delicious.

And I took down Christmas. That took what felt like eight days, except that it was really like two or three hours. I think Christmas decorations are kind of like having family visit--you're so happy to put them out, and then you're just as happy to put them away.

While listening to to a few podcasts.

And I cleaned. And vacuumed (three times). And I ellipted. And I took a shower. And I did laundry.

And then the dryer went kaput. And I was mad. So I made Matt put on an episode of Mad Men, thinking that the dashing Don Draper would help me to forget about the inconvenient death of the dryer, but then I fell asleep during the episode.

This morning I found a guy on Craigslist who says that he has 30 years of experience fixing dryers and that he'll fix it for $40 plus the cost of parts. Hopefully that's not code for "30 years of experience murdering silly women," because I called him and he's coming to the house soon. Anyway, if I get murdered, you'll know it was "George" the "dryer repairman."*

*Don't worry, the dryer is out in the shed, so I don't even have to let him into the house.**

**Also, I'm going to hide a cast-iron skillet in my jacket, just in case. That's my weapon of choice to use against potential murderers.