I spilled about a bowl of cereal (thankfully without milk!) on the carpet. I do not intend to become an expert on the interactions of cereal and carpet, but I think I experienced the perfect worst case: cereal with flakes that crush and carpet with a Velcro-like attachment to flakes. Did I mention that our apartment does not have a vacuum or even a broom? I pretended that it was some kind of Zen gardening project, which made it entertaining for about five seconds. The rest of the eternity was not even close to entertaining.
The head-pounder succeeded in giving me a raging headache, which was not improved by doing the household chores. I am, you see, the only one who can empty a dishwasher, which wins me the prize of clearing up all the dishes that have been left in the sink since the dishwasher was started. Brent and I had a difference of opinion about how dry something must be before it is folded. I became less and less nice.
Eventually, Brent evacuated to the office and T. and I walked up to town. My plan was to go to the gym while he read in a café. Great plan, if I had remembered my gym card. Did I mention it was raining? Apparently we are here in the middle of the coldest summer in 51 years. We have been told this more than once. There are some records it is not pleasant to experience and I vote emphatically for some sun so I can go to the beach and learn to surf before Brent watches too many more beach disaster shows or I see too many more jellyfish exhibits.
Instead of going to the gym, I got T. some more books lest he run out of printed matter and be reduced to watching YouTube in every waking moment. We both sat in a café, T. drinking Earl Grey tea and me drinking fresh pineapple juice, with our books (so, mine was actually my phone, but I was reading on it). Things have become somewhat better since.
