"See these lines? Truly disappointed.
Truly, truly, truly, oh....."
So this part of the week has been a wreck. Thank goodness it hasn't been an actual crash-bang collision, but man, the goals have stalled and bitten the dust. That life thing again, it happens, right?
We have had Flea-Maggeddon, and the Revenge of the Fleas, and with three hairy kids (the smallest of which is 70 lbs) the dog washing has been interminable. The Newf and the smallest lab are horribly allergic to the buggers, and they are in so much distress. I've dumped Borax in the kid's (the actual two-legged ones) rooms, and vacuumed until the bloody machine is about to cough up it's last clump of dog hair. Then done it the next day, spraying a concoction of Dr. Bronner's Eucalyptus soap and water to repel the fleas as well. I didn't want to use "poison" i.e. a Raid-like product, but what the hell. Finally sprayed the carpet and box-springs. The mattresses got Dr. Bronner's, which was so strong it made all of us sneeze.
Poor dogs, they have been washed in flea shampoo twice, and finally in Dawn dish-washing soap! It's good enough for all the poor oil-coated birds and otters, right? The Newf actually seemed to like it. Maybe she was actually glad to be squeaky-clean for once? And after I had been debating changing her name to Pig Pen. . . .They have been flea combed, smothered with anti-flea and aloe spray, and all this after my first cunning ploy: the generic Frontline.
I have one word for the generic Frontline and it's maker: Utter Suckage. Okay, two words: Utter Bloody Suckage. Three. Three words: Utter Bleeding Bloody Suckage. Four, my four words are: Utter Bleeding Bloody Suckety Suckage. On wheels. With pasties.
Hey, I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition. . . .
So even with the insanity, I haven't completely lost my sense of humor, so I guess I should be grateful, but crapsticks, it's hard to not be disappointed in such a lackluster couple of days. The one day I got some writing in, I was down to 762 words, and S.T.R.U.G.G.L.I.N.G. But I made myself do it, and beat myself up about it later. First draft, so I can revise and slice through the crap later.
So tonight, on this side of the ocean, I'll stay up and work through this, because there will always be "life" going on outside of this writing gig. Always fleas to stomp and kids to bathe, and some other chaos and bliss all wrapped up in a tasty exploding cupcake. Bon Appetit!
"This is the last song I will ever sing (yeah!)
No; I've changed my mind again (awww...)
And thank you."