POST-STORM CLEANUP

letter board via Letterfolk! 

UPDATE FROM THE STICKS /

Submitted Monday, November 2-- wait is it still Monday?? I swear it's been dark since noon. #notreally

Last week we had a windstorm. The worst in something like 200 years. 70mph wind gusts, branches in the windows (not ours, thankfully), cardboard strewn all over the yard (yep, that one's us). It was big and it was sometimes-scary and the power went out for four hours, then it came back on for about three minutes (yayy!), then it went back out for another . . . forever (arghhg). Once the power was finally back on for good things seemed promising, but somehow the power forgot to bring with it the rest of modern life as we know it, so that was inconvenient. My phone wouldn't send or receive text messages at will and Gmail decided to stop delivering my mail to me, like, all together. No emails! For a week! But lots of phone calls from people being like, I'm EMAILING you what's the DEAL! Talking on the phone isn't fun but it turns out it's not THAT bad. Though trying to binge watch Netflix while the wifi isn't sure it remembers how to work . . . I mean, we have important business to attend to, people! 

And then the Jeep up and stopped working. Soooooo . . . WHY??

Speaking of Netflix.

Did I mention it got dark at 9AM today?

Picture it: You've got B watching Mad Men on the iPad, me watching The West Wing on the laptop, Huck watching Disney Junior on the TV . . . all in the same room upstairs, all on the same futon, empty string cheese wrappers EVERYWHERE, needlepoint stuff off to one side. Sad translation of the term "Netflix and Chill," am I right?

Well. The West Wing? My new coping strategy for the worst parts of the Clomid (day 9 through ALL OF IT) is thinking about the Buddha (oh, the Clomid rage!) and watching lots of Netflix. 

I'm just kidding about the Buddha. 

So I finally finished The West Wing today (lots of fast forwarding through Jimmy Smits scenes, sorry dude, I just want Josh and Donna to kiss already). I cried like a blubbering baby (BARTLET FOR AMERICA!) (SAM SEABORN!!), as you do, and now that that's accomplished I am now prepared to engage in the all-important next step in The Great Netflix Experience (which mirrors The Great Reading Harry Potter Experience), which is the Rough Re-Entry Into Real Life experience. And how inadequate does it make me feel that I'm looking around me and I'm like,"This isn't the White House! I don't work at the White House! Nobody is racing around me with witty banter! I have nothing important to do! How did this house get so messy?!!" 

And how cute is Josh Lyman? He's kind of a creep but also, mostly pretty cute. #redheads 

Then you walk around collecting empty Diet Coke cans and fishing that pillow out from between the couch cushions and clearing all your abandoned socks and blankets and sweatshirts from your Netflix nest of garbage all the while you're like, "I'm pretty sure I have something I should be doing right now . . . what was it?"

It takes you a minute! You know.

Luckily my email finally decided to get its act together this morning. I woke up this morning to 300 not-junk unread emails after going to bed with zero. THREE HUNDRED!?!?

(Soooo, if you emailed me this week . . . I AM SO SORRY!)

Anyway, that's the update from the sticks. Post-storm clean up. Clomid storms, Netflix storms, windstorms, car trouble storms, ramping-up-to-the-holidays-needlepoint-gifts storms. We are in storm repair mode. 

(Though I might already be ready for another Netflix binge instead. Let's just say I've been operatically singing "Cloooo-miiiiid" a lot these days. Any series recommendations?) 

The end.