Run me down with a slow-moving tractor

I took last night off from moving things, but I still packed something, and so managed to rack up some more moving karma. Tonight, though...

I feel run over, flattened. Part of it is skipping lunch to head over to the house to grab a book I needed for work. I'm hungry and tired, and cranky because I'm hungry and tired. Add in house crap, and I just want to do the avoidance dance for a little while.

They're not done. They're still not done. They've left tools and crap in the kitchen and dining room, the downstairs toilet isn't working, and they're painting the laundry room before installing the washer and dryer upstairs. And we were supposed to move in on the first? Take a good look at the date, kids. This ain't the first.

I feel sort of helpless, though. I want to get mad at the landlord, and make him fucking finish already, but I'm so pathetically grateful that we have this gorgeous house in the first place, that I can't quite summon the rage.

Instead, I'm just tired. I'm looking at another week or so of slowly moving my stuff from the apartment to the house, another week in limbo, not quite moved in, and not quite moved out. My amusements are slowly trickling out of my grasp, and I'm torn and bored and lonely at night. It sucks. I want this to be done and over with, the way I thought it might be last weekend, and it's not.

Add in an increased workload from Russ starting classes, which involves me running up and down three flights of stairs a dozen times a day, and I just want to hide under the covers until the bad people go away.

So. Tonight, it'll be pizza, me, the boob tube (maybe some more Buffy?) and my muses. I'm thinking some truly awful Mary-Sue fic will be perpetrated where I turn Immortal and start whacking people's heads off. Or maybe I'll show up in Sunnydale and start a magic library and cast spells and shit. Or maybe I'm a mutant experiment who escapes and ends up in trashy bar in Canada, where I meet this really scruffy guy wile being chased by some one-armed guy. Yeah. That's it. I'll be this beautiful six-foot amazon with long tresses and no concept of morning-mouth who can kick-ass and take names and then head over to my favorite manicurist (who is really Methos in disguise) because I chipped a nail while casting a spell that saved the universe from the evil being called from the depths of Hell. Or...

Okay, maybe not. I don't think I could get more than a paragraph in before laughing too hard to keep typing. But the pizza and the night off still sounds good.

Chance meetings

Oookay - so this policy of wearing real clothing down to the corner store is apparently a good one. I just ran into two of my coworkers from the Gates Foundation. We commiserated for a few minutes over the high maintenance nature of our users, and I told them that, no, I wasn't moving out of state, but was just up at the university, and then took my coke and my peanut butter m&m's and hied home.

So that was fun. I think I'm still a little bitter over not being hired on a permanent basis, but I'm doing well, and I looked good, so neener neener on them. (Mature, ain't I? <g>)

Now if that pizza would just get here, I could completely veg out.