You’d think they’d wear themselves out doing this all day long.
You’d be mistaken.
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An 8 day house-sitting getaway with ample time and quiet and opportunities for swamp-y adventures and research sounds great, doesn’t it?
(No, it doesn’t. It did before I had to get up at 5 a.m. to catch a plane. Right about now it sounds like the stupidist fucking idea I’ve ever had).
The house has air-conditioning and there are adorable kittens!
I’ve been informed that the snowbirds have flown north, so it’s nice and peaceful. Which, now that I think about it, sounds like a euphemism for “desolate.” The power doesn’t go out that often anymore, though, so there’s that! The internet works sometimes, or so I’ve heard. There’s no landline, but if you wrap yourself in aluminum foil and stand in the bed of a (parked) pickup truck while there aren’t any clouds in the sky and you’re super-lucky you can apparently get a decent cell signal.
Oh, hell.
I’m either going to get loads of research done or I’m going to be starring in the sequel to Tucker and Dale vs Evil.
I have to cook for myself for most of the week. That alone has great potential for tragedy and/or comedy.
Luckily, I’m just up the road a-ways from Publix so I’m sure everything will work out fine. They have awesome fried chicken.
Plus, I hear you can get fantastic cell reception in the produce section.
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Crowley, the catbird king of my hell and his or her friend, Mr. Crazybird, have been joined by an entire flock of friends. These lunatic birds apparently have nothing better to do than have raucous conversations at 5:00. In the morning. Did you know there are two of those every day? Only one of them is happy.
Goddamned nature.
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