It feels like there's been an earthquake or or a riot or something: most of the house is under plastic.

I've slept on the loveseat the past two nights, since the futon here in my husband's office is so small. We're the hunters/gatherers of the two-room lower level, here, foraging for clean clothes. Sharing a desk. Sleeping on the floor, or (in my case) curled up on a loveseat.

The television doesn't work, and I don't watch it when it does. Though it doesn't help my husband's mood not to have it. He's asleep, which doesn't seem like an irrational reaction to the stress of the situation.

I need to get up early to rescue some more essentials from the kitchen, where the Highly Competent Koreans will be stripping wallpaper and painting tomorrow.

And I don't get my new computer until late tomorroe, either. I'm working right now on my husband's laptop, and I won't have access to my client files, billing records, books, stories, journals, poetry, music, photos or Safari bookmarks until the files from the old drive get switched over to the new Macbook. (And of course I won't have my text files until I re-install Microsoft Office on the new machine.)

This is just like when my forbears crossed the Oregon Trail on covered wagons, except that as I recall it was even worse: there were entire families sharing MacBooks in those days, and the machines were shy on RAM, too.

But still . . . the situation does make me cranky.

I hope there is an afterlife, because if there is my grandparents are laughing themselves silly right now. (She's sharing a bathroom with her husband! The horror! Does she know what it's like to live without indoor plumbing at all?

As a matter of fact, I do: I went without it for a number of months when I lived on a farm in Maryland as a kid. But I don't miss it much.)

Posted by: Attila Girl at 06:34 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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