Some days, I swear it would be more appropriate to rename this place Upside Down…those of you in the know will be happy to note that I am approximately 96.257% finished with my whine about this move. I’m almost done…but not quite.
Last night, I awoke in my new, unfamiliar surroundings. When I glanced at the time, it was 33.333 o’clock. This disturbed me on many, many levels…so I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming.
It hurt….therefore, I was not.
I said, “Sonofabitch!” to no-one in particular and debated whether to go back to sleep or check the clock in the kitchen to see if it too, said 33.333 o’clock. I mean, maybe there’s something wrong with the three clocks in my bedroom (yeah, count ‘em…three) and this is nature’s way of funding the electronic-clock industry, right? Clocks have to meet their maker sooner or later, I figure…so it’s worth a look-see.
Walking down the hall and into the kitchen required my doing the hokey-pokey sideways and in a zig-zag pattern…kinda like a “Z” followed by an “apostrophe-S” to reach the kitchen without taking a detour through another time zone…which would defeat the entire purpose of verifying the time in question, rendering the entire maneuver moot.
Needless to say, I’m not done unpacking. My whine-window hasn’t closed yet…right? ‘Cause I’m over this move already and I want my life back. I know I’m supposed to be all brave and upbeat and giddy but this moving actually bites the big kahootie and I’m so very, very DONE.
I do believe I actually said the above out loud, which in turn woke up Taylor…who zig-zagged down the hall, stubbed his toe, said some curse word in Japanese (I believe), maneuvered the Z followed by the apostrophe-S and grumpily asked me why I was up so late yelling at no-one in particular….and “what the hell is a kahootie, anyway?”
I responded that I was done and I wanted order back in my life, as well as world peace and a microwaveable dinner that didn’t have as much sodium as the Dead Sea. Then I glanced at the microwave for the time and saw it was a respectable 3:37…and I exclaimed, “Oh, crap. It is 3:37 in the morning. We must go to sleep. Those pictures aren’t gonna hang themselves, ya know” and I re-traced my steps back to the master, while vaguely hearing Taylor open the fridge…undoubtedly looking for the classic 3:3337 am snack.
This morning, he denied the conversation ever took place. However, I offer to you Exhibit A: three discarded wrappers of string cheese…and we’re chalking the bizarre time-sighting up to faulty wiring. I mean, what else could it be??