a Day

This has been a Day. I don’t really know why. Nothing bad has happened. It’s just being a Day. I went to bed way way way too late last night because the INTERNET came to our house, and I really did not want to get up this morning. I had a turrible frown in my eyebrows and Ted kept trying to smooth it away and it kept coming back. I eventually did go back to sleep. Whinybutt Kit.

We’ve been doing laundry, which is a painfully slow process (Deirdre did laundry in Seattle and when the washing machine stopped after half an hour she was like, “What’s wrong with this thing?!” What was wrong with it was that it was an American washer and therefore efficient.), and I unpacked the desktop computer and printer and through a lot of unhappiness and swearing got it set up, so Dad, who is housesitting while we’re in NYC, will have net access. That’s good. And my new printer *is* spiffy and splendid and *very* fast.

We went into Cobh to get cat food and some quick-fix meals for Dad, and were thwarted in the former but successful in the latter. We also had lunch at a local diner-like-place which was equally as good as, if on the other end of the spectrum, the Commodore Hotel. I had lamb stew and it was *really* tasty. (Ted had a burger that he didn’t complain about, so presumably it was fine. :)) We got a cab home and it was the cabbie who’d brought us home the day after Ted broke his arm. He inquired after the state of Ted’s arm and told us the reason the phone lines went out was the Eirecom boys had cut the lines, and then regaled us with a tale of woe about how he’d been building a house out on Whitepoint and the fellow doing the work was working with a Turkish man, who was champion, but Ian was out there with the digger and cut a gas line and Joseph (presumably the Turkish man) was bellowing, “IAN! IAN! STOP! *STOP*!” and our cabbie called Ian’s da, whose name escapes me right now, who is a good builder, does brilliant work, but Ian, that Ian, he… (Here he trailed off, and I offered, “Really likes the digger?” and the cabbie said, “That’s it, all right. Boys with toys!”) And anyway, Da came out with a roll of duct tape, and our cabbie said no fookin’ way, he was going to call the gas board, and Da said there was no reason for that at this hour of the night, and the cabbie said like hell there wasn’t, if someone was out walking and flicked a cigarette into that great big hole it’d be his new windows only installed three days ago that’d be explodin’, so he’d best be callin’ the gas board right now. And the gas man was out in ten minutes and capped the line off, and all was well. :)

Once we were safely home again, I packed up some more of our landlord’s kitchen belongings, then came up here to dork around on the computer for a while. And having written all that out, it doesn’t seem nearly as Day-like as it felt. Huh.

On a completely different note, today is TRIPDAY! Happy birthday, bestest parasite ever! I sure miss talking to you regularly. Perhaps I could *furitive look* get in the habit of *emailing*…! HAPPY TRIPDAY!