The day started at two am when my fifteen year old incontinent dog strolled through my bedroom. The faintest jingle of her chain is enough to get me throwing off the soft warm blankets and hustling her little ass outside. Two thirty rolls around and she wakes me from a light sleep with her bark to come back in.
I get up at six, get ready, stagger down stairs to find dog crap in the living room. So much for the early hour foray into the cold cruel world.
The urchins were in rare form. Sleep deprived, but refusing to sleep, they commenced their ceaseless zombie attacks on each other and anything within a ten foot radius. By nine I had freely offered up my brain as sacrifice only so I wouldn't have to listen to the constant bickering any more.
I've somehow turned into a phlegm factory in the last few days. Let me tell you I wish I could outsource this factory work to a different country.
The vacuum exploded in a huge cloud of dust right before it went kaput, and I'm pretty sure the couch ate one of my slippers.
I had no time, energy or desire to write at all today, and I really need to up my word count.
Then, late tonight after endless errands to the accompaniment of constant whining, I sputtered into our local supermarket gas station on fumes. And that's when it happened. Like a divine beam of light illuminating the dial after the super market card was swiped. I earned $1.10 off every gallon on the fill-up, making it $1.51 a gallon. And just like that, the whole day was saved.
The Game Is...Something
16 hours ago