Tomorrow the housekeepers are supposed to come, and this house is a disaster area.  Ever see that old Whoopi Goldberg movie, Corrina, Corrina?  There’s that scene where Whoopi/Corrina the housekeeper goes to clean a rich person’s house and it’s a disaster area but she has to clean it anyway because that’s her job?  That’s not my housekeepers’ job, cleaning disaster areas.  They clean surfaces “reasonably free of clutter.”  None of my house’s surfaces are currently “reasonably free of clutter.”  I am so tired.  I don’t know how I will get the surfaces reasonably free of clutter in the next 18 hours.  Yesterday Elvis got into his closet and discovered all of the boxes full of stuff that the insurance people packed up after the fire and which we haven’t seen fit to deal with yet.  Elvis saw fit to deal with it all.  By “deal with it,” I mean that he opened all of the boxes and dumped their contents onto his bedroom floor.  Including the box of miscellaneous toy parts which I was planning to throw away when no one was looking.  Including the box of our framed pictures, one of which had its glass pane broken when the box fell to the floor.  It was uncool.  The whole situation is uncool.

I know, you should have my problems.  Why am I blogging when I have so much to do?  Because I’m a lazy crapface who likes to whine, that’s why.  Haven’t you figured that out yet?

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