It’s been one of those days.

I went out to get a ceiling vent that actually attached to the ceiling (I meant to do it in the spring but then we never used the heating and it became moot) and I bought one that wouldn’t work. Again.

“I am going to have a stiff-bodied tantrum,” I informed E.  So he has decided he can make something that will allow us to get the vent up there and make it fit. I hope he does it soon because I am mightily sick of thinking about heating vents. This happens to us a lot. I decide I am going to do some kind of home repair, and he ends up doing it because I am, by and large, hopeless.

Then I wanted to make peach crisp,  so I did. It is too sweet and is underwhelming.

It’s like when I get a fever and my whole body is over-sensitized, except it’s only my brain. Fire trucks make me cringe and I want to knock kids off their rumbling skateboards. Colours give me an eye twitch and I can’t decide if I am too hot or too cold.

So then I decided I had some kind of deadly brain fever, which led me to wonder what people will say about me when I am dead. I think about this more than is healthy.

On the plus side, I got bills paid and swept the floor of the suicidal bugs that keep coming in my house.  I think that’s pretty good for someone with a deadly brain fever.

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