Glitchy. Whenever I post a comment, the comment publishes twice. It's like I'm repeating myself. It's like I'm repeating myself.
Went to see the only hopeful on the short list of house rentals; too small. Tell me not to despair. Too late.
Maria and I cleaned bathroom drawers and under the sink. I threw away about 42 old toothbrushes, expired Cipro, tubes of stuff that looked suspicious, and a couple of completely squeezed-out toothpaste tubes. I sorted bobby pins, nail clippers and eyeliners. Maria passed me bottles and buttons, and countless little things. None of my work seems sufficient, in terms of getting us out of here. Chipper me smiles and says, "It will all pay-off on moving day. Every bit counts!" And sober, bitter me says very little, but sneers and moans a lot.
Sober-bitter me paid a visit to the boy's playroom today, and I had plenty to say about that. After threatning to withold all joys, including TV, allowance, food and shelter until the room is clean, the boys came through and returned their playroom to a state of cleanliness.
Before Geoff started working again, he read me an article by an anonymous and disgruntled wife of a game programmer. She lamented the hours and the expectations of employees and their families, she decried the conditions and held her fist high, angry for all the injustice. Her husband was working 50-60 hours a week, then 80 and at times more. Hah! She'll get no sympathy here. I'd defend her and give her my shoulder to cry on, because she does have a point, but my only reward is bragging about how much worse I've got it. Besides, who wants to complain now? The time to get really freaked-out will be when the remaining programming jobs go to Shanghai and Bangalore.
I guess I'll clear out the pantry tomorrow. Every bit counts. Grumble, grumble.