1. I was carrying everything upstairs so that I can pack and I wrenched my knee so bad that I can’t even bend it without gasping in pain.
2. I opened the dryer to get my laundry and was greeted by the smell of cat pee. Why did the cat(s) pee in the dryer?
3. The Butcher hasn’t cleaned the litter box since the middle ages. And the lid to the litter box is in the litter box, thus making it impossible to use, which you think someone might have noticed, but no.
4. So, as I was emptying the dryer and putting all that shit back in the washer, I knocked the folding door that the Butcher said he was going to fix months ago and it fell over onto the dog and a bunch of boxes that the Butcher stacked in the dining room and their contents are now scattered everywhere.
5. So, obviously, I’m going to have to clean the fucking litter box because the cats cannot use it as it is.
6. And I can’t get started packing until the laundry is clean.
7. Which I guess is fine because I can’t climb the fucking stairs with my knee as is.
8. But I can’t lay on the couch and watch TV and feel sorry for myself because the fucking folding door fell in front of the couch and I’ll be damned if I’m going to pick it back up and prop it back where it belongs so that we can ignore that the Butcher didn’t ever fix it.
That is all.
Think about how much the Butcher cracks you up when you go to lunch together
I know. In general, he’s a good man. And, in all fairness, I do leave my dishes on the floor in the living room and never take them into the kitchen, even though he’s asked me fifty million times.
It’s not as if living with me is a picnic, I know.
But I just didn’t need to be ambushed by everything going wrong all at once.