Okay, so, well, there's nothing to report here. Seriously, nothing. Well, no, a friend of mine was startled by bunnies and injured her leg badly enough to need ice and sympathy and a link to my parody poem from February which made me feel all warm and tingly because someone else understands that bunnies are dangerous, dammit.
And then I felt guilty for feeling all warm and tingly due to someone else's pain. And then I felt better because I felt guilty, which is not, I think, the purpose of guilt.
But all of this is a mere distraction from the fact that nothing happened here which is darned upsetting because what was supposed to happen was the kitchen floor getting torn up and a new floor put down and a new dishwasher installed and a new garbage disposal likewise installed and then many adult beverages consumed in celebration. But not only was the floor not torn up and replaced or the appliances installed, but--and this is the really frustrating part--the wine cabinet is inaccessible due to the white cabinet and the refrigerator now living in the dining room.
Do you understand, my beloved readers? The refrigerator is in the dining room, and the microwave is in the living room, and the dining room table is filled with stuff from the kitchen cabinet and the coffee maker is in the damn bathroom, and I cannot open the wine cabinet.
And before you ask, yes, I could go buy more wine, but where am I going to put it? I can't use the coffee table because that's where we have the silverware and the gin and the tea bags. The fireplace is out because we had to move the cat dishes there to the great displeasure of the cats who keep wandering into the empty kitchen, looking around, and then vomiting right where their food bowls are supposed to be.
My bedroom would be a good place for the wine except that I have thirty pieces of pottery and twice that many books piled on every available surface waiting to go back into the kitchen or dining room or my home office. Mom's bedroom is full of cat toys and paper towels. There are dvds and cookbooks piled in my home office where they don't belong, along with the spice rack and a stack of skillets and all of the oven mitts.
There are too many oven mitts, by the way. If you need some, let me know, and I will send them to you as soon as all of this is over and the food processor is not blocking access to the desk where we keep the mailing supplies.
The hallway is a dangerous maze of laundry, shoes and teapots.
I mean, great silver cylons, just talking about this makes me want to get into that wine cabinet! Which I cannot do.
So I'm sipping a nice glass of unsweetened iced tea and pretending it's malbec. I'm doing deep breathing and visualizations of ponds and beaches and libraries. But let me be very clear about this: if nothing continues to happen this week, there will be boxed wine on the front porch where I will sit in my pyjamas listening to old Hank Williams songs and dreaming of the days when I could eat at a table in my own house.