If you look up the word "bedlam" in the dictionary, I'm positive you'll find This D*mn House among the definitions it offers.
On a morning where I could have slept in a few hours, I was awakened by the dog around the time the alarm normally goes off during the week. Instead of being peaved, I've used that extra time to do a variety of tasks up to and including empty Pearl's trunk.
I've emptied it because very soon I will begin filling it. We are taking a load of items to my godmother. That will help to eradicate some of the bedlam that this house has devolved into. It's a combination of Christmas and of items for the restaurant. It won't be all of it, but it will be ALMOST all of it and I'll count that as a victory.
On Wednesday, I will be driving to the office and that will help, too, as I can empty my room of all the things I've purchased for our charity program. (It's starting to look like Santa's workshop in there.) That also means that I will have easy access to my poor excuse for a closet once more so I can empty my room of all the clothes hanging around that have amassed everywhere now that the closet is blocked.
I groan every time I walk in the unfinished bathroom and cringe staring at the half-completed kitchen. Yes folks, I've hit the boiling over point. I want my house back. The unfinished projects are like the grim reaper and depress me every time I walk in the rooms. And since it's serving as storage space, I haven't seen the dining room since February or March. Sad.
I haven't been able to reach Lawrence. I'm trying to see if I can eke a day or two out of him sometime, anytime, during the next few months. Especially since this coming Monday is the ONLY Monday I'll be working for the rest of the year. *GRINS* Just got my vacation schedule finalized. So, I'm hoping these coming long weekends will help me make this place livable again.
And of course my displeasure with the house is only marginal compared to the real source of my angst: Ozzie has to go to the vet. He's been sick off and on for a while and at the beginning of the week I discovered an ominous lump. We were finally able to secure an appointment with HIS vet, who, unfortunately, has one foot out the door toward retirement. I wouldn't have held out if it seemed like an emergency, but while it's not an emergency, I do fear it's serious.
He's 13, halfway to 14 almost, so that's part of my concern.
I know it's inevitable, but I'm not ready yet to go there yet. As a person who generally likes being right, this is one time I want to be very, very wrong.