Aaauurrrggghhh!!!

Let me tell you about MY day.

As is so often the case, everything was fine until I got to work. To make a long story short, I wound up hauling 400 lb. of topsoil and 80 lb. of mulch. This is a really stupid thing for people with fibromyalgia to do. Then, I went home.

I walked in the door to discover that one of the solders on a joint in the recent hot water heater fiasco had popped and there was water all over the floor. The checkbook and savings account are in Boston with Mr. Samoa, as I didn't expect to NEED any money because there's plenty to eat here and he left me gas money. So no money to hire a plumber. So I called Dad. "Oh," he says, "you'll just have to resolder it." "Um, Dad, that's not going to work," I advised him, because the closest that I have come to solder in about 10 years is acrylic fingernail glue. "Where's Mr. Samoa?" he asked. "Um, Dad. In Boston. Like I distinctly heard him tell you." "Ohhhh...." So he advised me to try duct tape and a hose clamp. Which I procured. But..

When I got back from procuring same, I discovered that the dogs had shredded a puppy pad. All over the place. Like, into its component atoms. So I decided to wait on that, and fix the leak. This was where I discovered that I did not, after all, know how to work a hose clamp. Right about then was where I lost it. I called Mr. Samoa in hysterics, and he advised that I call his dad. I did, and God bless him, FIL drove an hour to fix the miserable thing. I will remember this the next time I gripe about the ILs, and I will have to think of some suitable reward.

So, thankfully, that is all that ends well, at least for the moment. But, I forgot the really good part. Somewhere in there, work left a voicemail wanting to know if I could come pass meds!!! I got myself calmed down enough so as not to kill the messenger, and called to say, "Um, no. No I cannot. Not unless you have pontoons for me to put on my house." Fortunately, this explanation did not prove necessary as they had found someone, but that was really the cherry on the sundae. (Oh, and I did clean up the puppy pad. And I apologized to the dogs for screaming "I HATE YOU!!!" at them at the top of my lungs.) I told Mr. Samoa that I'd rather have flown to Boston. I'd rather deal with the TSA. Hell, I'd rather deal with a shoe bomber. I'd have an excuse to kick the crap out of someone after all this!