I realize I put an end to one of my entries by mentioning the noise my tub makes. It was terrible of me to leave you in suspense. However, my life is all about suspense these days. I like to plan. I love to plan. In fact, the most wonderful thing about having things to do is the ability to use that calendar app-thingy on my phone and the cloud (ahhhhhh...I really don't know what that sound is) so that everyone in the cloud (ahhhhh...it's like angels or something) has all my plans on their calendar app-thingy. The cloud (ahhhhh...can you hear it now?) keeps us all on the same page. Look, listen, kneel, pray!
Not so much that last thing. That was weird.
Life, of late, has been all about things unplanned. Especially those things that make you raise one eyebrow and tilt your flabbergasted, slack-jawed head to the right and start a lot of sentences with out finishing any of them. "Ooooh, my..."
(hand over your mouth), "I need to g--" (point backwards), "I don--" (point in big sweeping circles), "None of that--" (universal no/stop sign), "You have got to be...." You either get too much time to get used to the unplanned thing or things or you get less than no time at all.
It's very much like having your arm cut off. Either a pole axe lops it off immediately in one blinding flash (that's almost never good) or it's surgically removed one slice at a time over two months (like maiming by uppercut). So, to update:
1. It is day 21 of BrainWatch. We went in and got Squib his glasses. He was very excited. Oh for joy! All I have to say is that was one day I was thankful for shopping carts and Walmart, but really only in that order. I know it's day 21 because I know the date of his MRI and about when I can expect results. Yes, I can predict the behavior of radiologists and pediatric geneticists. I am that good. Really, I've just been doing this since 2002. The quart of blood they'll need to do the genetic testing will be drawn then and we'll wait for those results until the end of time. First, no one really knows what all that crap means anyway. Not for realz. They're finding out new genetical whatsits all the time. Second, we're starting off with a discussion of possible brain tumors in a child of seven who has already had massive open heart surgery and has a brother with tetrasomy 18p (knowing the tetrasomy 18p part was inspiring, but mostly only panic inspiring).
So pardon me when I go mad-biochemist on you and laugh like Ed the Hyena every time the words "need" and "chromosomal study" end up in the same sentence. Especially without the word "free."
2. The heater in the Hobbit Hole is having issues. Yes, we renamed it again, but only because it is 'more perfecter.' Who is teaching Squib verb tenses and adverbs because that obviously isn't coming from me?!?? Oy. Anyway, when it dropped below sixty-five in here and the heating pad (that is supposed to convince my body that it really does have the electric blanket that BUDDY STOLE from me) shuts off, I start to wake up. Sorry for the screaming, but it was twenty-six degrees outside, so it got below sixty-five in here and I had every electrical thing capable of producing heat turned on and I mustered up a good solid sixty-seven. The diagnosis? The heater can't keep up.
This doesn't exactly baffle me as we only have a 60 amp line to the Hole (Hahahahaha! proof I really could be a teenage boy for a day. Nvm.) We also "might" have half the heater wattage we need. Not might. We do. When I over heard the AC/heat dude say that, I think my right eyebrow hit the ceiling and I wanted to jump up and down on my bed and scream, "I am going to strangle that scrawny. Little. Geophysicist. If I have to die to find him! We'll never need more power in there. We'll never run a computer lab in there with a farm of printers, a plotter, central AC/heat, a gazillion UPS's, and a hair dryer/microwave/TV/DVD player/etc. We would never do that."
3.The tub is officially The Cauldron. It doesn't boil or anything. However, it can get pretty darn hot. If you take a bath, though, and drag it out a bit, the drain under the tub starts to make this gurgling noise. It's a harsh, raspy, wicked, burbling hiss. Since everything is open in here, you can lay here at night and listen to the hissing from the drain and wonder when it's going to start emitting skeletons and all manner of evil (that's The Black Cauldron...I have a kids movie thing going here).
4. Door slamming. Currently high. Very, very high with no forecast of dropping off in the future.
5. Laundry, yes. Motivation, zero. Chances are it's clean, but you'll have to work to find it.
6. Sleep? Deprived.
8. (Accept it and move on. That other number is not to be named today. Apparently crossing your "#'s" (I dare not even type it) means they're for sure a "1" and not a "#" which is actually backwards but I don't go there with Baba. Instead of calling Wells Fargo she "won" a cruise to Jamaica by dialing all those faux 1's. Saints. Preserve. Me.
9. Cell phone? Still British. It will not spell words like "realise" or "theatre" like any other normal Texan. It has accepted y'all. I think it fractured something in it's psyche at that point because for the last week it's been correcting spelling and word choices. Putting 'so' in for 'do' or 'duck' in for 'luck' or 'luck' in for 'lake.' It's rather fond of 'duck,' actually. My absolute fave, though, was when I texted a (guy) friend of mine and he asked me to look something up. I typed "wait for sec" and sent "wait for sex." So I tried to right it and it tried to do the same thing again.
Don't even dare ask me about Siri that useless animal. "What can I help you with?" Apparently nothing.
Scat
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