Mar. 10th, 2011

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Eee! The mail brings me garden temptation and VERY low fiction: a High Country Gardens catalog and a cheezy Harlequin with the teaser subtitle of 'Missing Husband Found Alive!'. Tonight there will be snuggling while watching 'Justified'. For now things are pretty quiet, broken occasionally by croupy coughs. So far I stand immune to the crud. Why am I writing this post? I've already forgotten. I may not be ill, but my brain seems to be made of soggy cotton. Ah! News. My tenants have given their 30-day's notice that I must muster my amateur land-lording skills. I feel fairly confident. I have a secret weapon you see. I allow a dog.

My clients of yesterday have earned three demerits! *frowns* First they called for delivery to the hospital, but when I arrived they had departed for a very long walk. While I'm glad for laboring women to spend time outside the hospital, I can't rent something to absent people. Then they paid with a unprinted check when my terms are cash. THEN they called me at 1:30 in the morning to let me know they were done with the tub. I don't need this information at 1:30 in the morning. Fortunately, my cell was in the office and I didn't discover this final gesture on their part until 6:30 a.m. when 5yo woke me by squeezing in between myself and 8yo, neither of whom were in my bed when I went to sleep. I got a very large bed precisely for these sorts of scenarios, but four people and a cat is still a bit of stretch. I extracted myself and read in a hot bath until I got a repeat call at the much more reasonable hour of 7:30. 'Missing Husband Found Alive!' was not yet in my possession and I was forced to fall back on The Voyage of the Beagle by Mr. Is Absolutely Burning In Protestant Hell If One Exists. I keep it in the bathroom and have been reading it in the pre-dawn hours bit by bit for a couple of years now. I regret to report that what he had to say about Australia this morning would not charm its fine citizens.

Jane Austen fans, do find you a copy of Lady Susan if you haven't already. I found the ending of the novella a bit unsatisfying--because of its abruptness rather than its content--but the eponymous sociopath is not to be missed.

ETA Dear Santa, Please bring me a Domesticated Fox from Siberia for Christmas. It seems I can have one delivered to my door for a mere $6,975.

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