Train starts a'rollin'

I arranged for a junk hauler to come on Friday afternoon to collect the treadmill. They will also take a dead treadmill out of the basement (I only used it for 5, 6 years. Dad bought it used. I kill treadmills for sport). Then there's the Health Rider; it took my knees years to recover from that one. Assorted other junk--whatever I can pull together between now and Friday.

I was planning on doing this sometime in the fall, but the treadmill breakdown forced my hand. I can roll the thing out of the living room, but it's too big to stash anywhere else since "small house" equals "small rooms." Can't get a new one unless I deal with the old one, so.

This means that the pieces of basement storage table that I tore apart a few months back can finally go. And if those guys can haul out the metal office desks that my dad wrestled down there on sheer bullheadedness, I'll give them each a cookie...although given the expected temps, cold drinks would probably be better received.

Life happens on its own clock. Planning is a fiction we convince ourselves is fact.

Kuro's thermometer read 102F when I backed into the driveway this afternoon. Not the official temp--that's a balmy 97F--but I don't care. It's HOT. King barks at me to let him in if he's outside for a few seconds too long, and he and the Gabster are both loving the cool hardwood floors.

A storm blew through in the early, early morning. 230am, I'm awakened by two restless pups. Then I saw the strobing through the curtains, lightning flash after lightning flash, lighting up the backyard like high noon. It didn't last long, thanks be. I so feared a power outage, but the lights didn't even flicker.

The day job is crazy. Writing gets tucked into the gaps. Tomatoes are starting to fruit.

I can't believe it's almost August.

Train starts a'rollin'

I arranged for a junk hauler to come on Friday afternoon to collect the treadmill. They will also take a dead treadmill out of the basement (I only used it for 5, 6 years. Dad bought it used. I kill treadmills for sport). Then there's the Health Rider; it took my knees years to recover from that one. Assorted other junk--whatever I can pull together between now and Friday.

I was planning on doing this sometime in the fall, but the treadmill breakdown forced my hand. I can roll the thing out of the living room, but it's too big to stash anywhere else since "small house" equals "small rooms." Can't get a new one unless I deal with the old one, so.

This means that the pieces of basement storage table that I tore apart a few months back can finally go. And if those guys can haul out the metal office desks that my dad wrestled down there on sheer bullheadedness, I'll give them each a cookie...although given the expected temps, cold drinks would probably be better received.

Life happens on its own clock. Planning is a fiction we convince ourselves is fact.

Kuro's thermometer read 102F when I backed into the driveway this afternoon. Not the official temp--that's a balmy 97F--but I don't care. It's HOT. King barks at me to let him in if he's outside for a few seconds too long, and he and the Gabster are both loving the cool hardwood floors.

A storm blew through in the early, early morning. 230am, I'm awakened by two restless pups. Then I saw the strobing through the curtains, lightning flash after lightning flash, lighting up the backyard like high noon. It didn't last long, thanks be. I so feared a power outage, but the lights didn't even flicker.

The day job is crazy. Writing gets tucked into the gaps. Tomatoes are starting to fruit.

I can't believe it's almost August.