Yesterday evening, while I was tossing and turning, trying to sleep, I missed a call. My last appliance, the range, will be delivered this evening between 1600 and 2000. So, another sleepless day awaits me today.
They picked up the stove approximately 550 miles from my doorstep six days ago, but didn’t know until less than twenty-four hours in advance when they would be delivering it? I can understand not knowing the time window until the day before, but not knowing the day at least two days beforehand?
Nope, sorry, not buying it. And the call came in after hours, so there was no way to call back and reschedule before the truck would already be on the way. And of course I’m working all weekend, so no hope for a day off to catch up on sleep. Fuck me!
Whatever. This, the pressure washing, and the washing machine water supply valve replacement should be the last of having to deal with other people needing to get inside my house for a while. Except for the maid and the hookers, but they come when I want them to.
In other news, I learned yesterday that B’s babydaddy posted something on the book of faces about being worried about his upcoming back surgery. During which I hope he dies a spectacularly horrible and painful death, but in a manner that leaves the medical staff and facility completely blameless so B doesn’t see a dime from the glorious event.
Part of B’s reassuring response to said post was a verbatim repetition of something she said to me not long ago: I love you to the moon and back, Babe. (Oh, and she’s blocked me again.) The fucking bitch deserves every bit of pain and heartache that living with him brings. Plus some.