Slavery

Slavery

I have become a slave to my house. I don’t own it, it owns me.

Today, I had the fan guy out to do some maintenance on my two-story-high ceiling fans. When I tried to turn one on for him so he could hear it squeak and squeal, it wouldn’t work. The motor’s shot. He told me not to turn on the second one again, because, see how that doojigger is loose from the whatchacall? Yeah, that. Don’t turn it on again.

So we’re getting two new fans in a couple of weeks.

Then the ejector pump guy came out to clean out the ejector pump, since that’s what the last guy who repaired it said we needed. This guy says it’s not under our contract, but then the manager says they’ll cover it this one time. So it’s cleaned out, but the house is temporarily stinky. Glad that’s done.

Then the paint guy came out to give me estimates on the living room and the exterior paint jobs.
Then another paint guy came out to give me estimates on the living room and exterior paint jobs.

And I’m waiting for another guy to come out and give me estimates on the living room and exterior paint jobs.

After that, I pick Decky up early from school for a dental cleaning, then take him to drum lessons, then make a nice roast for dinner.
And no, I will not be attending the staff meeting tonight.
Maybe I’ll make salsa instead.

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