Sorry, couldn't help calling it that. Today I am going to put on a big push and finish the rest of my bedroom. Unlike Dubya's Surge, mine will have a positive effect on my bedroom, and on my mood.
Yesterday was a good day - I did the usual rounds of errands and housework and laundry, got my hair cut and went to the gym. I was going to start painting when I got back from the gym around 4, but clouds rolled in and made it too hard to see, so I decided to wait until this morning and spend the day in a painting frenzy.
The Hair God did another great cut, I need to do my color later when I shower off the paint. I give the growing-in stubble patch very little thought these days, it's growing in nicely, and we agreed that in a few months it will be long enough to cut the whole thing daringly short and let it all grow back together. Though that plan will depend on the Hair God's next decision, because he may be gone in a few months. Because the Hair God, too, is sick of what Orlando has become and wants to bail on Florida, and go back to his native land, West Virginia. He has a standing job offer at a spa there, and he's just waiting, as I am, for the housing market to stabilize a bit more before listing his house. It's so funny, every time I see him he updates me on his plans to get out of Florida in a low voice, conspiratorially, like we are prisoners tunneling for the state line with teaspoons - he leans in and whispers,"My mortgage broker friend says the market will be doing better by August...." He says leaving his clients will be hard, he's had some of them over 15 years, but he just can't take it anymore.
Meanwhile, I had an epiphany. I had been dreading the thought of living with the house on the market, and the amount of work it would take to keep it in Model Home Condition while working long hours and with two dogs and a Girlchild who works odd hours and sleeps until noon. I couldn't imagine buyers coming in while we are gone in the afteroons, with the dogs in a frenzy because strangers are in their house. And then it hit me, I don't HAVE to do that! I will list the house after she leaves and takes her adorable little hellion dog with her. After she's gone I can put those two rooms and the hall bath in Model Home Pristine shape and they will stay that way, and need nothing but maintenance dusting and vacuuming. Murphy will have to suffer the indignity of being crated in the afternoons while I'm at the office. He will hate that, because he's a mature gentleman dog of 7 and crates are for kids. (Dog kids, I mean, there are laws against using them on human kids.) Murphy will be pissed, but he'll get over it, and with a little luck and good pricing, it won't take too long to find a buyer.
Murphy's razor burn is looking much better - I had worried that I'd have to take him to the vet if he didn't leave it alone, but the redness is almost entirely gone. He, however, is still milking it for all that it's worth. This dog pulled a muscle once when chasing a squirrel while on the leash, and he REFUSED TO WALK, then hobbled like a little old man, oooh, it hurts, it hurts.... I thought he really was injured and took him to the vet, where they pronounced him fine and a hypochondriac. Same thing this time. He barely budges from his bed unless I put him on the couch, where he assumes the position of Brave Little Invalid. He wants to be carried around like a baby, and have many tummy rubs to make it all better. I know he's full of crap, because when I put him outside he walked normally to the grass to hike a leg. Then he came in and put on the Little Dog in Pain act again. I think he learned this act from my mother. I have switched from giving him sympathy to telling him to get over it. Tough love all around.