(no subject)

We have what is commonly referred to as a reactive dog. Nonsense barks a lot to tell us that she hears something that she would like us to know about.  It's what she believes to be her job.  We tell her she's a good dog, thank her for trying to keep us safe, and sometimes we open the front door so we can look through the glass door to make sure there's no one there.  

 

Why the fuck can't i do that for my own internal alarums?

 

Today was day 2 of the dishwasher not showing up during the allotted time window, and discovery of the fact that somehow the repairperson who showed up yesterday to make sure we weren't dealing with a lint blockage has made the situation worse.   Yep, my fancy new dryer now refuses to dry clothing altogether.  If I was slightly more industrious, I'd see if I could pin everything to Abundance's clothing line outside, or string up ropes inside or something, but mostly I just want to cry.  Fancier dryer, roughly the same failure state (shuts off before it finishes drying because it gets too hot), but somehow even worse at drying clothes.  

 

Light'll make the calls tomorrow to both the absent dishwasher installation people and the company that sold us the dryer and the vet to see if they can fit us in before 1/11 to look at Noodle's limp (because I'm very worried about her, but not worries enough to try to navigate an emergency vet at least until she's either acting like she's in pain or limping more consistently. 

 

Light's vibrating downstairs watching the news, Abundance's equally intent in the next room over, I've fucked up all the blankets in my bed but am unwilling to disturb the three cats currently sleeping on said blankets to rearrange them (and have been for hours), but hopefully I'll remember it's something I want to do when they get dinner in half an hour.  (reader, I did not)

 

I'd realized this a while back about youtube videos, but hadn't put the pieces together to realize that both my inability to spend much time looking for new youtube videos and my weird hostile feelings about painting my toenails are both about missing Delight.  

 

I'm playing some sort of weird news-chicken, sticking my face in the stream until I'm on the very verge of freaking out and then backing up.  It's better than just boiling in the feelings, but it feels like one of those not good, but better than the alternative kind of behaviors.  

 If we get actual confirmation or even just a narrower window of dishwasher arrival than the past two days ten hour slots, I'm totally going to stress bake tomorrow.  Delight and Spark visit, med check, then at least two kinds of cookies.  And maybe I'll even try to brainstorm some birthday celebration for myself.