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Roomie and I took the loose change we'd accumulated since the trip and put it toward an Amazon certificate. With the resulting proceeds, I bought two crappy horror movies and three books, including the first ASOIAF novel, Game of Thrones. If it turns out to be any good, I'll watch the S1 DVDs of the eponymous series with Roomie.
I can't muster the energy to do anything. Chapter XIX of Sprache has been on the verge of completion since the night before the well pump spat the dummy, but I've not touched it since, nor have I touched the two books I'm reading. I've just been a torpid lump of humanity. Some of the malaise can be attributed to my incipient Red Bloat, but much of it stems from the uncertainty of when the pump will be repaired properly. As of now, it's running off my unused dry conduit via a length of copper wire that snakes across the neighbor's backyard. The neighbors swear the hit to my electric bill will be negligible, and that they'll pay the overrun charges, but they have a vested interest in minimizing the consequences, and the seasonal neighbor who only comes two weeks a year has a history of kicking up shit when it comes to communal maintenance of shared property and its attendant costs. He's already pissed and moaned about the cost of the copper wire. If I wind up with an astronomical bill, I'm going to make good on my fantasy of stringing razor-wire around the yard and outfitting the perimeter with turrets and landmines.
The power company swore up, down, and sideways that it would have an inspector out as soon as possible after the holiday. In most places, that would mean an inspector would be out tomorrow or Wednesday, but this is also the company that told me it would need eight to ten weeks to run fifty feet of cable for television and Internet. Therefore, I'm not holding my breath.
I can't muster the energy to do anything. Chapter XIX of Sprache has been on the verge of completion since the night before the well pump spat the dummy, but I've not touched it since, nor have I touched the two books I'm reading. I've just been a torpid lump of humanity. Some of the malaise can be attributed to my incipient Red Bloat, but much of it stems from the uncertainty of when the pump will be repaired properly. As of now, it's running off my unused dry conduit via a length of copper wire that snakes across the neighbor's backyard. The neighbors swear the hit to my electric bill will be negligible, and that they'll pay the overrun charges, but they have a vested interest in minimizing the consequences, and the seasonal neighbor who only comes two weeks a year has a history of kicking up shit when it comes to communal maintenance of shared property and its attendant costs. He's already pissed and moaned about the cost of the copper wire. If I wind up with an astronomical bill, I'm going to make good on my fantasy of stringing razor-wire around the yard and outfitting the perimeter with turrets and landmines.
The power company swore up, down, and sideways that it would have an inspector out as soon as possible after the holiday. In most places, that would mean an inspector would be out tomorrow or Wednesday, but this is also the company that told me it would need eight to ten weeks to run fifty feet of cable for television and Internet. Therefore, I'm not holding my breath.
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