Everyone but me is sleeping. I’m sitting near one of the heat registers and I can hear and almost feel the hot air streaming into the bedroom.
My morning started off sticky. Stickily? Someone knocked over the big (also, expensive) jug of grade A maple syrup a couple of shelves up from the bottom of the fridge. I discovered the aftermath as I was getting breakfast put together for the sleepy small fry. Half of the shelf the jug was on was covered, as was one inside wall of the fridge and various parts of the two glass-topped drawers below. The puddle on the bottom of it all was impressive. At least eighteen waffles’ worth.
I took out the sticky packages of celery, bell peppers, cheese, cilantro, tomatoes, carrots and baby spinach. Dismantled the bottom half of the fridge, washed the drawers, the glass tops (chipped one in two places) and the drawer holder thingies. I rinsed off the veggies and put them in clean bags. I was left with the eighteen waffles’ worth of syrup at the bottom, and the ooze along the inside wall. It required a little tupperware tub of warm, mandarin orange dish soapy water and a scrubby sponge. Many paper towels, as well. Now, though, a good half of the fridge is very clean, and I was meaning to toss that old cilantro anyhow.
I know it’s just plain twisted, but I really get into jobs like that. Maybe they appeal to me because I seldom have the time (or make the time) to be thorough. I feel like I’m on constant triage duty when it comes to lots of the things that I am responsible for.
I’ve been trying to make time every day to test out the new camera. I would have a fit that would impress even my own Sophie if I got to Spain only to discover it was buggy. I haven’t been far from home, and the weather has been inclement, but I am feeling like it’s working fine.
Today we booked a place for Willow’s birthday party (an expensive, swank sort of place to ease my guilt over NOT BEING HERE FOR THE ACTUAL DAY — though the party will be after I’m back) and I went to a local travel agency and bought some Euros and Pounds. I thought the US was some sort of SuperPower? What gives with the 37 pounds for 80 bux? I would be cranky about it if I wasn’t so geeked out to actually be going. I still can’t think about the dollar to Euro thing, though.
OH, the plane, it is two stories tall. That is good news for me, since it makes my claustrophobia a little less red-alertish. Just knowing that I’m in a not-totally-tiny thing way the fuck up in the air is somehow better than being in a relatively tiny thing way the fuck up there. Once my former brother-in-law said that planes shouldn’t really be able to fly and that the only reason they did was that everyone on board believed they would. That if someone didn’t believe, the plane would just fall out of the sky. He was in the air force so I think he must be right. I’ll be like the lion in the Wizard of Oz the whole time we are in the air, clutching my shirtsleeves and saying, “I do believe in planes, I Do, I DO, I DO!”
Must sleep. Though I hate wasting the alone time.