Except this time I don't have some sort of miracle ploy or twist of Fate to absolve me from the fact that I have been in absentia. I've been, you see, both busy and lax.
I've been busy, you see, not working. Adrenaline Junkie, our august personage in charge, decided that since gasoline prices have skyrocketed, he was going to save us all some wallet-grief and move us to a four-day work week. That means 40 hours of work, crammed into 32, and we're paid for the full 40. Rock and or roll! So Friday being my chosen day off work, what do I do? I spent a fulfilling but back-breaking 10 or so hours helping Vulgar Wizard pack up her apartment, stuffing it all into my brother's borrowed truck and trailer and her Toyota pickup, and hauling it at break-neck speeds to her new and nearly completed palatial estate.
It was a lot of fun, as good hard honest work in service to another is, and tiring, and fulfilling, and tiring. Did I mention I was tired when we got done? VW worked harder than me, I think, and at the end of it I was afraid she was going to collapse, but a big slug of Gatorade restored her nutritave balance and her eloctrolyte metabolic interfarcicial panjandrum, and she was right as rain. The thing that got me was this morning--see, the apartment has stairs in and out. About ten of them. Irrelephant is not in the shape he once was. Hell, Irrelephant was NEVER in shape, and taking those stairs about three thousand times was murder. My calves feel alternately like they're built up enough right now to burst clean through my skin and so withered and useless that they refuse to carry my weight.
But it's done, that is if VW's hubby-to-be and his best bud got the couch, the two desks, and the recliner out. VW, you see, is a slight little thing, and on her best day we could not have moved that gods-awful sectional, not alone. So with luck she's 100% moved in, and the unpacking can start.
So that was Friday. Did I post Thursday? I think so.
This morning was a case of not being able to get up, caused either by profound laziness or by delayed exhaustion or both. The only thing that appealed to me this morning at 8 am, after 10 hours asleep was a) sleeping more or b) staying in bed and pretending like I was asleep. But, I dragged my sorry carcass out by 9 and decided that this morning was cool enough to wash Rita (the truck, not the storm,) which I did. And which almost put me in the hospital. I really wasn't ready for all that work. But this is cool, because my beauty no longer looks like she's one breakdown short of being abandoned in a barn somewhere.
I hear tell Serenity the movie is to die for, so perhaps I'll have the chance this afternoon to die for it. I also hear Sam Goody's has some wonderous Pink Floyd Dark Side Of The Moon boxers, which I might spend some of my unspent birthday cizash on. I also happen to know that I have a hundred bux in unspent gift cards to Lowe's and Harbor Freight Tools that have been crying my name, louder every day. Perhaps this afternoon is The Time.
Roight. Without further ado, the oil change.