Thank you, Gustav.
Thank you for choosing now, of all times, to make your entrance. Yes, that's sarcasm.
Next week, we officially start school. A whole new routine, a whole new experience for one maniac, which adds a whole new ball to my juggling act.
All. By. Myself.
The husband has to go chase you. He chases flooding everywhere. It's what pays our bills. Pipe bursts and heavy rains are our friends. And it's kind of nice to have the husband go off for a couple of days, leaving us comfortable having mac and cheese for 3 days straight and shuffling around in piles of stuffed animals and blocks for a while. (Not that we never do that when he's home. I just feel less guilt when he's gone.)
Hurricanes are different.
He could be gone for a week. He could be gone for two weeks. He could be gone for two weeks, come home for a weekend, and go back for two weeks. More than once.
My thoughts are with the locals, first and foremost, but I'm also selfish. Please, Gustav, flood a few basements, dampen a few documents. Boost our income. But please, please, please, try to keep it reasonable. The people are still recovering from Katrina. They don't need you.
And I'd like to have a few drinks after "school" without worrying about having to handle a kid emergency.
It’s us, but in dead animal form. But not really dead because they weren’t ever alive. Undead? No. That makes them sound like vampires. So not that. Fuck. I don’t know the word. Hey, how long can a title be? Because this seems excessive. Someone should stop me. Jesus. This is as bad as 280-character twitter.
1 day ago