I got the wrong animals

I am tired these days. Having to get up early with guests and yet, refusing to go to sleep on time, is proving not a winning combination for me. My eyes refuse to stay open, the body is fighting my attempts to keep it going while all they want to do is snuggle in bed and forget about the world. Period.

Miss Fab has her performance tomorrow and then we can mellow down to our usual sloow pace. Well, not really, because there is so much to be done around here, I am feeling a bit sorry for myself. You know that nagging feeling of a small child that wants to jump out and fall on the floor and scream bloody murder or a rendition of “Why me?! Why me?! I just dont wanu!”? Thats whats happening. I just cant find my groove these days.

And my blinds were filthy.

I had to sit next to them the other day and, people, believe me, they were gross. While guests are good to force us to tidy up the house a bit, they also put on me these everything seeing eyes, that I am not sure I want to have. One day I walk around in complete and utter bliss, the other, I can barely contain my disgust at the state of my house. The blinds were covered in fingerprints and food enough to nourish us in an emergency for at least a week, and I saw it. The carpet looks like a small animal pooped at random places on it and then ironed in the deposits while we were sleeping. What the?!Â Then there are the insects that smear ear wax all over, wherever, without any consideration for us. Far out! Where are the fluffy bunnies that stumble around and collect dust, in between stroking our feet and cuddling with the kids? Or the army of invisible bacteria that eat up the dropped to the floor food within minutes?

They skipped our house, thats what happened. They went to my friend’s house, the one that seems to live without touching the ground or anything in the house. I love her dearly, but she needs to be informed about all the damage she is causing to people like me, people with dried up tomato splatter on the stove top. Long term, irreparable psychological damage.

And as I am bathing in my own pitty, a little very naked man runs towards me and hands me a bunch of freshly picked flowers. Then runs away calling “More! More!” and life seems bright again.