Welcome back to All Flooding All The Time. I realize some people might not be entertained by a blow-by-blow description of my tribulations. It helps me to write it.
“In that case,” the naysayers sniffs, “you should write it in your journal, that is your PRIVATE JOURNAL. Or get therapy.”
At this point in my soul searching, I realized the naysayer is actually my inner critic, for whom nothing is ever good enough. And then I remembered it is Middle-aged Musings Monday, and the above couple of paragraphs could count for that.
In my notebook (paper spiral-bound, not the computer kind), as I wrote this morning (sitting on my couch sipping coffee) (off work this week), I went on to write another page continuing my flooded basement adventures of Saturday. Then I realized I could not sit there and continue to write while my basement was NOT knee-deep in water. I had to start hauling out ruined crap while the hauling was good.
I got to work. Soon my parents and one sister showed up to help. We worked SO HARD! I CAN’T WAIT to get back to the factory next week! It will be such a relief!
And now I am just too tired to type in the page I had written, plus compose the rest of the story (I did mention in a previous post that Saturday was a long day). And I really, really do have to get back on clean-up duty. The mud from the basement has begun to take over the ground floor as well.
So this is my post for today. A short musing about whether I really ought to be writing All About My Flooded Life, a brief mention of what I did about it today (thus messing up the sequence of my blog-by-blow), and I’m afraid I’m done.
Now if only I could think of a title for this. Ooh, just thought of one. And I make it appropriate by adding: Of course I feel just terrible about writing such a lame post on a Monday.
Mohawk Valley Girl 