It’s fucking Friday, y’all. It was another restless morning. I woke up just as Shawshank was leaving; I heard him as he walked out of the bedroom. I made a token attempt to adjust the sleep mask and find a comfy position. It was fruitless, of course. I got up.
Yesterday was pretty uneventful. I did morning things, like makeup, and demanding a miniature steam shovel from my husband. Shawshank suggested I simply take it. I probably could have, to be honest. The dude at the controls wasn’t paying attention to anything but his phone.
I ate a bowl of Raisin Bran for lunch, like the old person I fucking am. I played some Skyrim until Shawshank came home. The Foot Clan was quiet, but I ended up chatting with some other friends. We talked music and video games. Pippin joined me, curling up in my lap for a little while to soak up the attention.
Water pressure went waaaaay down in TinyTown yesterday. I noticed it around lunch, but it wasn’t too bad. Officials put word out on Facebook, asking residents to please check their basements because someone had a leak. By the time we had dinner, there was a steady stream of water running down the main street. As it turned out, there was a leak in the basement of the town bar. They pumped an ungodly amount of water out of the place. Sucks to be them, but at least we can flush the toilet.
Today is Friday, which means it’s Date Night. Shawshank will be home in the afternoon.
