FIRST, we are still trying to sell the house. I’m starting to feel quite demoralized by the whole thing. Every post-showing feedback hammers the same thing, which is the same thing I detest about the upstairs layout. I KNOW, people! It’s not a surprise. I’d like realtors to get a little creative with the feedback. Instead of saying, “buyers felt the layout of the upstairs bathroom / bedrooms was a little odd,” how about this: “What ass-nugget thought it would be a good idea to carve a hole in the drywall around the toilet tank? And why do we have to walk THROUGH this bathroom to get to the other bedrooms? Welcome to the favela! You poor people. That bathroom left us with night terrors and semi-permanent retinal damage after just ten minutes of exposure; we can only imagine what ten years of bathing and shitting in that nightmare have done to YOU!”
It acknowledges the issue in a creative way, while imparting a level of sympathy and humor that make the entire situation more palatable. Let’s ENJOY the ridiculousness of my bathroom layout, shall we? Let’s track down the “contractor” who did this and subject him to a series of humiliating and professionally devastating punishments! I don’t know what those are yet, but I’m taking suggestions and would love it if they involved duct tape, a blimp, and the delivery of three hundred pepperoni pizzas.
We got a call last night at NINE O’CLOCK to request a showing for TODAY. Who are these inconsiderate scrotums? We have been on the market for six soul-sucking, hope-draining months; why the sudden urgency that shows no consideration for the fact that we need at least a day’s notice to clean and make arrangements for the dog? Or maybe we could just leave her in the house during their visit; she’s been eating her own shit lately, and I have no qualms about her licking people who demonstrate this kind of douchetastic behavior.
SECOND, I just learned yesterday that all of my remaining grant projects are due in April. One of them will be more than a hundred pages long, requiring the kind of intense organization, research, multi-partner planning, literary puffery, bureaucratic double-speak, and grinding budget development that make me want to throw a nuclear tantrum, drink scented bleach, and claw my eyes out with a potato peeler. Not necessarily in that order. If I make it to May, there will be tulips in bloom, but I may bear a striking resemblance to Gollum.
THIRD, I am still awaiting the verdict on my latest book proposal. It’s truly a paralyzing moment, and I am actually strangely grateful for all of the recent stresses of my day job. Nothing distracts you from obsessing over this kind of thing like a stack of work that makes you want to claw your eyes out with a potato peeler and/or drink scented bleach.
So that’s my life lately. Oh, I also convinced myself I had pancreatitis this week, and was nearly bed-ridden for three days with the distended, tender belly of a refugee. I will never eat half a pizza followed by seven pickles again.