It's 11:43 PM and I want to cry.
Tomorrow my contractor arrives at 7:30 to rip out one-and-a-half bathrooms, in a desperate attempt to have them completed before One's graduation party twelve days from now. It will be great to have new bathrooms, so I can retire my duct tape and plungers. But the timing sucks.
The Captain is away in Dallas. He got home from San Francisco Thursday morning, and left Thursday night to go to Macy's "Go Red for Women" charity golf outing. One really can't complain about combating heart disease, which is the number one killer of American women. But I am going to whine about having two business trips scheduled within three days of one another. He'll be back Wednesday.
A week from Tuesday I have my gallbladder removed. Yes, two days before One graduates from high school. The first available date was actually July 8, but I looked so crestfallen, the receptionist went back to talk to the surgeon, and got me in sooner. I'm tired of feeling like someone is inside my stomach straining to get out, and making it difficult to breathe. I don't want to live in fear of being sidelined by an attack during the graduation, or the RWA conference.
So, this scheduling nightmare leaves me with eight days to get everything ready for the party, including trying to clean my messy house, which will, as a bonus, be covered in construction dust.
The good news is that it will be impossible to write while the renovations are underway, so I'll have plenty of time to de-clutter and organize. I'm so excited. I'm pretty sure I just heard my muse confirm her flight to Europe.
I would weep right now, but I have to go cover my hallway in protective plastic sheeting. Forgive my shallow moment of weakness.