Dear Diary

Dear Diary

It’s Wednesday. I know it’s Wednesday, because I heard the recycling truck go by the house a little while ago.* My coffee is hot, and I’m trying not to guzzle all of it at one time.

The front door is open a little. I like to air out the front room, and this time of the day is nice; the house starts to freeze after about 4 pm and I’ll probably end up in three layers by dinner time. Even though the first floor of the house is larger than the last two places we’ve lived, I worry that essentially “living” in one room will make downstairs smell like my college dorm room.

I had a great workout yesterday morning, and then went out to buy some hair dye. I walked across the plaza to the grocery store because I needed to buy some tissues and lunch. Unfortunately, I wanted sushi for lunch, and they didn’t have any. Such is my luck. Instead, I had apple pie oats.

Agent texted yesterday afternoon. They want to come measure for the handrails tonight, maybe 5 or 5:30. They can do them tonight or tomorrow at same time. So much for giving us notice. Fine. They can come and do their thing, but I’m not being chatty with anyone. I’ve got a plastic bag on my head because I literally just slathered my skull in a handful of pink slime. Whatever. I put hat on over the bag I didn’t look quite so nuts. At 5:35 pm, two cars showed up with at least five people and one dog. They took their measurements and left. I’m sure they’ll be back tonight to install the rails.

Actually, judging by the forethought they’ve put into everything thus far, it’s much more likely my agent will tell me they’ve cancelled at some point this afternoon. My money is on them showing up tomorrow, because they won’t be able to get here before sunset tonight to do the outside work.

If they come tonight, I’ll be shocked. If they come tomorrow, they had better not disturb my workout schedule.

* Yes, the bins are out there. There’s a reminder set on my phone to remind me.

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