I'm sorry, Consuela (your name keeps autocorrecting to Consul, isn't there a fancy honorific that goes with that, your Grace or something?). That sounds like a PITA of the higher order.
I did not, btw, remember to buy dog food on the way home. Brought some cash on our walk and bought way-too-expensive-for-not-being-that-great dog food at Port of Call (which does, for my future reference, sell scratchers and I assume other lottery tickets), so Walter has something to decide whether he wants to eat it or not, at least. Real food to be delivered tomorrow.
Now if I can feed myself. The stock sis not magically turn itself into soup while I was at work, unfortunately.
Consuela, that's awful. I'm sorry. It doe sound complicated and exhausting.
I have had quite a day. I'm at that point in my work year where things feel exciting -- we are digging deep into something that I have had a problem teaching forever (justification and reasoning) and it's exciting to try to approach it in new ways. Last friday, I taught for 30 minutes in a 6th grade class. Today, I taught for 20 minutes in a computer science class. I love going into other rooms and tackling other problems for a bit.
My sister & I are working together on this father-management stuff, and he set up a trust and all sorts of contingencies, and it's STILL like sawing through concrete with a butter knife.
Still pissed at Comcast. Forever.
Gotta walk the dog before she starts eating me.
Comcast is always a nightmare. They must work at it.
I'm sorry that things have been so difficult, Consuela.
Ugh, Suela. I just... ugh.
Frustrating, Consuela.
I did remember to buy dog food. Just a small bag to tide us over because the fancy schmancy food he normally gets had said there was a three week delay when I ordered it...and it got here today.
Made the dog chase a tennis ball for twenty minutes, that helped.
I am enraged at the people who use our unofficial dog-park across the street, though. There's a dumpster 30 feet from the gate, and instead of using it, people have been piling their poop bags in a milk crate just inside the gate. Which is disgusting. I did my good deed for the day and emptied the damn thing into the dumpster, but I'm tempted to make a "THERE ARE NO POOP FAIRIES HERE, DUMP YOUR POOP" sign.
Now for tea and peanut-butter toast, and chorus rehearsal. Argh.
I'd throw out the milk crate.
I'd do what brenda would do. That's the worst. Why so lazy, people?
