I feel old.
This is not to be confused with me actually getting old, as that will no doubt cause my bar tab to skyrocket and necessitate some intense psychotherapy. It’s just that I’ve found this past week harder than usual.
I’ve been having a lot of back pain lately, and I haven’t experienced that since I first started letter carrying two years ago. I’m popping so much ibuprofen that it’s upsetting my stomach, and now I can’t sleep anymore either. This makes for a very cranky Tyg.
Last weekend I spent nine hours babysitting my fourteen month old nephew. I didn’t know babies had that much juice. If Nova Scotia Power could figure out a way to hook him up, they’ve have clean energy for the next couple of years.
I don’t understand fashion anymore. If it looks like a rat has been nesting in your hair, and you’ve taken to wearing jodhpurs with a tunic, that’s a fashion statement of some kind? I’m talking about a lady who just stepped out of a hair salon. What about the gal who’s wearing knee black leather boots in 30 degree weather? The men are no better unfortunately. Me, I like shorts and sandals when it’s this hot, so I guess I’m unfashionable now.
So I signed my life away for a new apartment yesterday. Yes, we’re moving, since the new owner of the duplex we are living in has decided to renovate and sell. We’ll be moving mid-September, and the expense means our Las Vegas trip will be delayed indefinitely, at least until I save enough for it again. We have a lot of big furniture and require professional movers.
I do so hate moving. I hate the packing, I hate calling and changing all my info, I hate boxes, I hate movers who ding my furniture and charge me a fortune, and I hate having to clean every little thing because I’m not a slob. Maybe I should just be a slob, but it’s not me and I can’t relax if I’m being a slob, even when I drink. Maybe I should just drink more, but I’m hardly a lightweight on that either. I mean, I’m half-Newfie and half-French, but unfortunately I’m not rich enough to afford the bar tab I’d like.
I flooded the basement. I did laundry, and the laundry sink was plugged and I didn’t know it until the basement floor was an inch deep. It took me over a half-hour to shove all the water towards the drain in the floor, but just FYI the rubber squeegee on the car snow scraper works great for that. By the time I finished, I looked like I had gone swimming. At least the basement floor is clean now, I guess.
The new owner of the house wants to do some renovations in the basement before he sells it. He’s splitting the water and sewer lines, so that he can sell each half of the duplex separately. He says we’ll only be without water and sewage for a day. I’m not sure the man has ever lived with a woman in his life.
If you want me to live without water and plumbing, you need to put me into a medical coma so that I don’t drink or use the bathroom. There’s hardly a gas station around the corner I can go to, you know? There’s also the matter of actually bathing, which I tend to do every single day, like most civilized people. It’s a hot summer here in NS for a change, and I have a very physical job which makes me exercise and therefore sweat a lot. He’s going to have to put me up in a hotel if he wants to do this, or else wait until after we move.
I passed on the golfing this weekend. I know! I know! It’s just that I’ve spent the week power walking around the city for Canada Post, and at least I get paid for that. I can’t bring myself to pay someone else for the privilege of walking for four hours while swinging pink golf clubs at a little white ball that won’t go anywhere I want it to. This feeling won’t last though, and I’m bound to get the itch again. No doubt there will be more golf blogs in the future. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.
By the way, if you haven't already, you might want to check out my half of the new dueling blogs on Addicts Alley at Habsaddict.com. Just ignore Willey though, 'cause it's clear that my argument is superior. ;)