Better than an Alarm Clock!

We awoke to the sound of disaster this morning, shattering glass and heavy, unforgiving thuds.

It sounded as if every dish & glass that we owned had jumped from the counter where they wait to be washed, to the certain death of our unrelenting tile floor.

Happily it wasn't our servingware that bit the bullet, but unhappily it was one of my favorite items-- a kitschy retro mid-century orange candy dish. I picked it up at a yard sale for a few bucks, so no big monetary loss, but it was definitely a showpiece item and I was rather fond of it. When guests would come over I'd fill it with various desirable items- grapes, cookies, candles, fruit, ahhhh. It made me feel fancy and classy, and singular.



Grey knocked it over. He's got a paranoia about his tail and he likely had a moment of spastic freak-out, resulting in the tragic and very messy demise of my favorite decoration. Aaron says he'll need to be locked up in the bathroom at night because he can't be trusted, but it was as much my fault as his. He'd taken to hanging out in that other window recently, having, i don't know, grown bored with the other window? And I'd obviously noticed his penchant for crazy spastic tail shenanigans so it really should have occurred to me to move that item somewhere more safe and out of lunatic cat territory.

Ah well. it made for a fun morning activity, trying to hunt down all the stray shards of yellow-orange glass... the radius of this shattering was epic. I got several shards in my feet in the process and some in my hand. I'm going to have to swiffer the whole floor though (wet picks up glass best) because I am able to put on socks and shoes but my kittens have vulnerable little paws. Swiffering is an Aaron job.... grumble. I changed the litterbox last time too... My sister always says: "Don't do a chore even once if you don't want it to become your chore." She lives this theory. She does plenty of chores, mind you, she's a bit of a clean-a-holic, but no matter what, no matter if the grass is four feet high, the bushes grow wild and start to eat neighborhood children or the weeds resemble forrests, she will blithely ignore it all because she says: "I don't do yardwork." That's her husband's chore and she will wait until he does it because she knows that if she does it even once she will have to do it again. So even though it might be killing her inside she smiles, shrugs and reads her book so she doesn't have to look at it.

I never should have done that litterbox. Dammit! CURSES! Foiled Again!

Well I have a long ass day of cleaning ahead of me, and also job searching and applying, so let me stop blogging and start getting motivated. First I will watch yesterday's Days of our Lives though. Don't fuck with routine.