“YOU PICKED ORANGE”: CHAPTER 11.1
or: “A Word About Water”
I just wanted to let you all know that I am still here, and trying to A) keep you all interested and laughing with this tale, and 2) keep our heads above water.
(And no, I have absolutely no idea why (if) the header on this deal is all cock-eyed, but I can't seem to make it all pretty and professional because, as we all know, I am a computer MORON. Quick, someone send me a nine year old!!)
It's pouring rain, and since our sump pump became a giant block of rust two years ago, in order to keep the office (we live in a bi-level house, so half of the house is underground; our office door leads out to the garage and a flight of steps takes us up to the actual garage) from becoming a swamp, we have to use what I call “The Vacu-Suck”, to dehydrate our sump, and the inside carpet. The weatherproofing on the inner and outer walls began to leak, last year, so it's just too much fun around here when it rains.
But I will get back to this thrilling tale of me and K, with me half the time threatening to kill people, the other half thanking people profusely. Crap, there's a third half: my crying, weeping, going completely insane and getting too quiet even for my comfort level. At least I haven't been caught mumbling dire... stuff. Yet.
(I actually did, and still do, a lot of muttering to myself; writers do that- we're either testing dialogue, or we're just nuts. But the looks on people's faces when we do it? Precious in their fear. "I am a pair of ragged cloths, scuttling across the shores of silent seas." See, Mrs. Gordon? I did pay attention in literature!
Okay, I'm just nuts.)