In Which I Fail At Acceptance
I would love to write something interesting here, but you know what? All I can think about is the way my husband has WRECKED OUR HOUSE. I'm trying to be all Zen about this, you know, I really am. I keep telling myself that, hey, SOMEDAY the room will be finished and who CARES if the New Year's party I throw EVERY YEAR doesn't happen this time, it's not the end of the world, for heaven's sake, there are people starving in Africa, etc., etc...
But then I get to the part where I remember that Larry TORE ALL THE WALLS OUT OF OUR OPEN DEN, leaving only bare cinderblock and a fireplace mantel ripped from its moorings; and I see all the den furniture crammed into our tiny townhouse-sized living/dining room and I realize that it's DECEMBER and there's NO ROOM FOR THE CHRISTMAS TREE; and I note that there doesn't seem to be any sort of daily renovation progress happening, because Larry thinks it's OKAY to destroy the house on one weekend and then wait for some other weekend to fix the mess, and then...
Well, then, I sort of flip out all over again.
I am SO going to IKEA this weekend. Because, really, what we need right now is MORE FURNITURE. And bath rugs - lots of bath rugs.
|Never underestimate the soothing powers of TOFTBO.|
Don't even try to reason with me on this one.