So we had an evacuation plan for this morning. I was going to take my laptop and go to the bookstore to hang out in their cafe area and do my work, uhm, all day while the little Ukrainian fellow jackhammered our home to smithereens. But TLUF (The Little Ukrainian Fellow) arrived at 9, saw us making motions to evacuate, and said in a panic, “Oh no! I kin’t be heer if you are not heer too. Somebody must be heer or I kin’t do verk!”
So guess who’s heer?
Yep.
My plan to evacuate and leave the mess and insanity to the mess and insanity professionals has been jackhammered to smithereens. Rather, I have the bottom-rattling pleasure of being heer for verk, 8 feet above it. Directly above it. Exactly directly above it. Precisely exactly directly above it. Immediately precisely exactly directly above it. The hallmark of good writing is the excessive use of adverbs. I thought everyone understood that.
The hammering began at 9:20 am. It is truly horrible.
So I’m encamped on my bed now, which — I kid you not — feels like one of those cheap motel beds that vibrates when you pay a quarter. Lucky for me, I’m getting my erotic earthquake for freeeeee. And for all the guns hidden in this house, I mean, you can’t open a cereal box without a damn gun falling out into your bowl, there are NO earplugs to be found anywhere. You have guns, you have earplugs, for God’s sake. Just now, I ran around like the Tasmanian Devil, tearing open cupboards and slobbering, praying to the blessed baby Jesus for some damn earplugs, Jesus! I think he’s mad at me now for using damn in a prayer because there are no damn earplugs. Bupkis. Nuttin’. So my ears are now stuffed with fist-sized wads of Kirkland Signature Bath Tissue, Soft and Absorbent, it says. It does not admit the truth I have just now discovered, which is: Utterly Worthless for Blocking the Sound of TLUF Jackhammering Your Stupid-Ass Condo to Smithereens.
To keep the fist-sized wads of bath tissue in place, I am wearing giant old-timey headphones. None of those precious iPod buds for this job. I need industrial strength noise reduction. It isn’t happening in any way, shape, or form, but I need to believe that I am at least fighting the good fight. I have some of my girls scattered about the bed, The Letter Sisters, The Club of Curious Friends because I am odd and they keep me company. The radio is on, I’m listening to blather, and telling myself I do not have to pee I do not have to pee I do not have to pee because the water has been shut off. My goal is to dehydrate myself to such a degree that my eyes sink back into my head and peeing is no longer necessary. Ever.
Oh, dear. What if TLUF needs to pee? Where will he go to, you know, go? Will he just pee in the dirt of my downstairs bathroom? Will it become his litter box? Worse, will he ask to use the upstairs bathroom, invading my industrial strength privacy?
Scuse me, mim, I heef to releef myself.
Oh, no.
Oh, NO.
Help me, baby Jesus!!
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