Just for a little perspective, there were three, maybe four loads of laundry there. And the pile stems from the same basic issue of: “the laundry must be piping hot” in order to be folded by said wife in exhibit E. Which, when you include washing and drying times leaves laundry to be done on Saturdays between 12 – 8pm (prime gardening time by exhibit E).

Finally, the plan worked! The dog didn’t bark or barf, the cats didn’t meow or hiss, and I was able to sleep like the princess I am until 10am. Simply wonderful.

My extra sleep energized me and not only have I walked the dog but I have figured out how to download pics from our camera and built a bird house. All in about 2 hours. How cool am I?

So, here for your viewing pleasure is the slide show of my life…….

First, may I present to you, the fish drink bowl.

Yes, this is what poor Charlie has to put up with on a daily basis. My crazy cats have two separate fresh water bowls but no, they prefer fish water. Personally, I think they are hoping for a little munchy along with the water but Charlie is no dumb fish. So far, he’s survived.

Next, I would like to re-visit a topic of ire. That’s right. Laundry. In an attempted to hold our tattered marriage together, I agreed to take over all laundry duties. (Except ironing – a girl has to have her standards.) Little did I know that waiting for me in the basement was the leaning tower of dirty clothes. See exhibit A.

When questioned, Party B broke down and confessed. He had stopped doing laundry weeks ago. Oh sure, he’d gather together the dirty clothes, but put them in the wash? Nope. Instead they were just piled in the basement. Waiting. The picture doesn’t do this pile justice. There are, easily, 10-12 loads here. Sigh. I did manage, however to catch the culprit in the act. Grrrr.

And finally, the birdhouse. Kevin found a huge bag of birdseed over the weekend that I have no memory of buying and I saw this in the paper this morning. All you need is a milk or OJ carton, a wire coat hanger, scissors, birdseed and voila! Instant feeding station.

I suppose you could paint it or spruce it up but it’s still raining here so I though I’d let to go. Don’t want to get too ambitious.

And, finally, in parting I offer you a Poocheese shot. He’s my new bud and is loving the fact that there is now someone home to feed him all day. Gotta love this dog.

Oh yes, thismade me laugh. I’m thinking my garden may just need a gnome or two….

I tried a new plan today.

It failed. Have decided I have two choices. 1) Wake every frelling morning at 8:30am or 2) return pets to the pound. Just thought I’d jot down a quick entry before I load up the annoyants since the animal shelter doesn’t open until 11:30am.

Last night, I explained my situation to Kevin and we worked out a new plan. Kev was going to get up and head to work without feeding the dog or putting him out. Instead, he was going to move Artie up onto the bed in the hopes that he’d be content to sleep in with me. This part of the plan worked brilliantly. Artie popped up on the bed, Kevin left, and I sank back into peaceful slumber with dreams of arising around….oh, elevenish, floating downstairs where I’d feed the dog and let him out for his morning routine while I fried up some sausages and drank espresso.

At 8:30am, the plan went horribly wrong. I had forgotten one very important (and loud) factor. Fatty cat. For reason I cannot explain, Fatty decided she wanted to get fed this morning and so, at 8:30am, she planted her big fat butt on the upstairs railing (well, mostly one with some chubs hanging over the side) and began to cry.

meow (feed me)……Meow (Feed Me)…..MEEEEEOOOOOOW (FEEEED ME NOW DAMNIT!!!)

At 8:45, I was firmly buried under blanket and pillows trying to hide from that piercing cry. Artie, however, had enough. With an audible sigh, he jumped from the bed and walked over the Fatty who meowed in his face. He replied with a growl that even I could understand meant, “shut up and go away, we’re trying to sleep”. Fatty refused to be bullied by a dog and returned a growl all of her own. Artie, who isn’t a morning dog in the first place, took his big old nose and poked her in the butt. Fatty returned the poke with a swipe across the nose. Next thing I know, there’s barking and snapping, hissing and swiping.

I just gave up and got out of bed.

This is tough. I mean, on a normal work day, I’d go to my little coffee shop on the way to work and they’d see me and smile. “Good morning!” they’d cry, “the usual?” And before I knew it I had a cup of hot coffee and a croissant in my hand. Even on weekends, I knew I could wake to a pot of brewed coffee and Kevin burning pancakes in the late morning/early afternoon.

Now, nothing. I come downstairs to an empty coffee pot and I have to not only make my own but then cook my own breakfast. This whole life of leisure thing is turning out to be tougher than I thought. And it gets worse. After breakfast, I have to make my own lunch! Phew, just thinking about it tires me out. Maybe I’ll go join the dog on the sofa for a quick nap….

My first day of freedom got off to a rocky start. You see, I envisioned myself rising from a restful slumber around…oh…eleven o’clock, wandering downstairs where I’d let the dog in and prepare a delicious brunch of fresh fruits and crispy bacon. Then I’d peruse the newspaper before dressing for the day. Sounds lovely, right? Well, Artie wasn’t informed of this plan. He had his own plans. They went something like this.

Wake up with Dad at 7:15. Get fed and put in backyard. Hear dad drive off in car. Don’t hear second car or mom leaving as usual. This means mom is being a lazy butt so I’ll just plant myself right under her window and bark….bark….bark….bark….bark….whine (for variety)….bark….bark… Well, look at that! There’s mom, opening up the door for me. Man, she doesn’t look so good. Wait a minute, where’s she going? Back upstairs? Hmmm, this isn’t part of the plan. Lets follow her and make sure she’s up. Ah ha! Just as I expected, she’s back in bed. Man, you can’t leave your people unattended for one minute. Lets see… Make sure I get a running start and… slam… Hm, covers over head now. Lets try this again. Back up, and….slam. Ha! Now she’s sitting up and throwing books at me. This is progress. Well just…..dodge…here….and slam . That did it. I have the art of bed slamming down! Ok, getting clothes, that’s good, lets just push her down the stairs a little, great, now we’re moving! Shoes, that’s good. Now for the leash, yup, and the treats, don’t forget the treats lady! Jeez, that was close. Alright! We’re off on our walk!

And so, at the bright and early hour of 8:30am I found myself being dragged around the block by my stupid dog. Grrrrr. He’s now curled up at my feet sleeping. Right when he looks like he’s having a really good dream, I like to poke him.

Hey, turn about is fair play, right???

Had a very nice lunch with the my bosses and co-workers and it made me a bit sad. These are people I’ve seen almost every day for four years and now, after today, I’ll only see them on the rare occasion when our paths cross. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of not working for a while makes me very happy. But I’d be lying if I said I won’t miss it.

I think it’s just this empty office that has got me sort of glum. I’m sure, come Monday morning, when it dawns on me that I don’t have to get up, I’ll be back to my normal happy self. But it will be odd.

Am down to the last few papers. One last push and I’ll be outta here!