Paint Fume Musings

Larry's painting! Boy, do I owe him big. And don't think he doesn't know it.

Did I announce that we caught Mickey? No? We did. No more poop in the silverware drawer, which makes me very happy. That, and I still have chocolate left. Not Raisinets, though - I've lost my taste for any candy resembling little turds.

I sat at the ice rink and knitted while Anna skated with some friends this evening. I just want that fact on record, for when Anna accuses me of never letting her do anything fun. The rink itself was dark with strobe lights going and loud, discordant music playing. I sat out in the lobby and observed all the girls dressed like sluts flirting with all the boys dressed like bums. I came home feeling about 80 years old. Was I ever that young?

Monthly trip to the commissary today. I managed to keep it under 500 dollars. I'm going to spend the rest of my money at Barnes and Noble tomorrow, while Theo's employee discount is still valid. 30 percent - I'm the envy of all my homeschooling friends. When I told them about the discount, they oohed and aahed as if I were flashing a brand new diamond ring. You've got to love friends like that. Well, I do, anyway.

Larry's still painting. He likes spending his vacation days this way. I mean, if he can't spend them tearing up flooring or insulating the attic. Or re-installing the front railings. Or any of the other tasks he's had to undertake as a result of thinking, last spring, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to move into another fixer-upper?"

Maybe he should have listened to me when I said, "No, it wouldn't." But at least he can't blame me for getting him into this situation. My conscience is clear.

I'm about to pass out from paint fumes. Gotta go.