g.j. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
in_the_blue) wrote2007-10-03 09:13 am
in_the_blue) wrote2007-10-03 09:13 am
What's with the humidity level? It's so muggy I couldn't sleep.
You know it's going to be fabulous, right? You go to bed a bit early, smug in the knowledge that you can get a solid seven hours' sleep. In fact, you fall asleep right away, knowing just how regenerative those seven hours will be for you and sleep like... well, like a video game character safe in his basement coffin until...
So. What's that noise? Why does it sound like an angry bird is trying to wake me up? Oh, I know: it's the cats stepping on the stovetop. It has that alarm sensor on it. They'll stop and I can go back to...
Hey. Cats. Cut it out.
Somewhere in the depths of sleep-deprived brain cells, the realization emerges that it's not an angry bird or the cats playing in the kitchen. In fact, it's the batteries on the smoke detector announcing that they want changing, and right now, please. So you look at the clock: it reads barely 5 and there's nothing to do but get up, get dressed, pray the ladder that reaches the ceiling is in the house... but it isn't, so you have to get dressed some more and go out to the garage. It's a nice night out: not too cold, not too warm, but muggy. Really muggy. So you get the stepladder and bring it in and make a mental note that the pear tree branch really needs to be pruned back because it's not fun when it smacks you in the face at 5 in the morning when you're carrying a ladder. You get the ladder up to the top floor without even scratching the paint -- minor victory -- and set it up and climb up and take down the smoke detector and look and see that it takes two 9V batteries. So you head to the kitchen which really is mysteriously lacking in cats after all and open the drawer that contains multitudes of every kind of battery known to man and grin, because there are exactly two 9V batteries left.
One of which is missing the metal snap to one of the terminals, so it's useless.
There's only one thing to do: check email, grab a shower, get ready for the day... and listen to the evil manic batteries chirping their replace me, replace me insistently every two minutes.
My head really wants to meet the desk about now. It's only 9 and I've already been awake four hours, and I have to go to work so I can't even say fuck it and lie down and take a nap. Tired, tired, tired. After taking Hannah to school, I went to the store and got A LOT of 9V batteries because this should never, ever, ever, ever happen again. Dear Goddess of Small Appliances: why not at 9 in the morning? 2 in the afternoon? Why 5AM?
I also know now that when I replace the batteries in that smoke detector, it's going to go off. In my hand. And scare all the cats again, and make me wish I had a baseball bat to crush the life out of the thing.
Keep your fingers crossed for me: it's quiet for the time being. But I think I"ll leave the ladder there till later, just in case of emergency. And let Mitch deal with the burned-out lightbulbs when he gets back tomorrow, because this isn't the gig I signed up for.
So. What's that noise? Why does it sound like an angry bird is trying to wake me up? Oh, I know: it's the cats stepping on the stovetop. It has that alarm sensor on it. They'll stop and I can go back to...
Hey. Cats. Cut it out.
Somewhere in the depths of sleep-deprived brain cells, the realization emerges that it's not an angry bird or the cats playing in the kitchen. In fact, it's the batteries on the smoke detector announcing that they want changing, and right now, please. So you look at the clock: it reads barely 5 and there's nothing to do but get up, get dressed, pray the ladder that reaches the ceiling is in the house... but it isn't, so you have to get dressed some more and go out to the garage. It's a nice night out: not too cold, not too warm, but muggy. Really muggy. So you get the stepladder and bring it in and make a mental note that the pear tree branch really needs to be pruned back because it's not fun when it smacks you in the face at 5 in the morning when you're carrying a ladder. You get the ladder up to the top floor without even scratching the paint -- minor victory -- and set it up and climb up and take down the smoke detector and look and see that it takes two 9V batteries. So you head to the kitchen which really is mysteriously lacking in cats after all and open the drawer that contains multitudes of every kind of battery known to man and grin, because there are exactly two 9V batteries left.
One of which is missing the metal snap to one of the terminals, so it's useless.
There's only one thing to do: check email, grab a shower, get ready for the day... and listen to the evil manic batteries chirping their replace me, replace me insistently every two minutes.
My head really wants to meet the desk about now. It's only 9 and I've already been awake four hours, and I have to go to work so I can't even say fuck it and lie down and take a nap. Tired, tired, tired. After taking Hannah to school, I went to the store and got A LOT of 9V batteries because this should never, ever, ever, ever happen again. Dear Goddess of Small Appliances: why not at 9 in the morning? 2 in the afternoon? Why 5AM?
I also know now that when I replace the batteries in that smoke detector, it's going to go off. In my hand. And scare all the cats again, and make me wish I had a baseball bat to crush the life out of the thing.
Keep your fingers crossed for me: it's quiet for the time being. But I think I"ll leave the ladder there till later, just in case of emergency. And let Mitch deal with the burned-out lightbulbs when he gets back tomorrow, because this isn't the gig I signed up for.
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I hope it feels perfect again soon.