It has not been a charming week.
I am very tired of mud. Mud everywhere
you walk. Mud on our boots. Mud on the dog. Mud on the towels used to
clean the dog. Mud on the floor, mud on the bed. I do not like it,
Sam I Am.
The forecast calls for rain, showers,
chance of showers, chance of rain, and chance of showers. Also,
fog.
The septic system remains in progress,
with a great deal of hand shoveling remaining to be done. In the mud.
I am very tired of mud.
Also, the lumber salesman called DH to
complain that the roof truss company has been complaining to him. We
are still not ready for the roof trusses, because there still is no
building to put them on.There will not be a building to put them on
until we build it. Which we will do ... someday ... I hope.
DH thinks he may have broken or damaged
a small bone in his foot, that keeps hurting like the dickens, and
has been for some time. I am in physical therapy for my arm. Which
the physical therapist thinks is connected to my neck. I resisted the
urge to break into song.
Onward we go.
Did I mention that I'm tired of mud?
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