nobody asked…

I do not suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it. — Bumper sticker

When I saw this bumper sticker earlier this week, I laughed out loud, whipped out my ever-present 3×5 card and trusty Pentel, and scribbled it down. Little did I realize that this was an omen, not just another laughable one liner.

This turned into the week from hell … and it ain’t over yet, my friends. Starting out bright eyed and bushy tailed on Monday morning, it looked like a much easier week than I’ve had recently. This was good. Body and mind and spirit were bent and cracked from weeks of constant abuse. However, the easy feeling did not last. A long list of customers, some of whom I have not heard from in months, all decided that I did not have enough to do this week. So they all called. At once. All wanting help. Now.

OK. Been here and done this before. I can handle it. Of course, little did I know what monsters lurked in the dark corners of the week ahead. On Tuesday, the lights over the cook stove blew. Both of them. Again. I had replaced the odd-ball bulbs about a month ago. Damn Chinese quality control, or lack thereof. So I pulled one out to take with me to be sure I got the right odd-ball bulb.

Wednesday’s work went to hell in the proverbial hand-basket. (Note to self: What is a damn hand-basket?) Then I came home to find that the great new food disposer I had purchased along with installation, had been done by a flunk-out from Bubba’s College of Food Disposer Installation and Repair. After I got the two leaking plumbing joints to quit doing so, I looked and realized the disposer itself was hanging at about a 15 degree angle from the bottom of the sink. Two more trips by the installer, numerous phone calls, several broken promises, and multiple mini-strokes later, the angle of the dangle has come down to between 5 and 10 degrees and only one small leak remains.

As soon as the duel with pistols negotiation with the big box retailer is finished, I will chronicle this entire sordid event here. As of this morning, it is not resolved, and the work to fix it falls on … ta-daaaaaa … you guessed it.

In the middle of my Friday workday, Roomie calls for the 7th time to give me an update on her phone wars with the big box retailer and the installer. That’s when she also laughed and said, “Now don’t have a heart attack or stoke, but…” Now friends, it does not matter what words follow that phrase, but one thing you can be damn sure of is that the message ain’t gonna be good!

After she told me that the top shelf on my side of the walk-in closet had come crashing down, dumping all that was on it and all my shirts and slacks and jackets hanging from it onto the floor, I could not laugh. I could not cry. I could not even curse. All I could do was say, “OK”, and stare out the car window as I saw my entire weekend vanish into chores I did not want to do.

All I wanted was a little time to watch and enjoy some football. Maybe next year.

Y’all have a good weekend and raise a cold one to poor ol’ Winston, stuck under the kitchen sink or on a ladder in the closet. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to make a quick trip to Home Depot, my religious institution of choice.