I just had the most satisfying vacuuming experience of my life thus far. I went out and bought the Dyson this morning and came home to see if it was going to live up to my expectations. It didn’t.
Our third vacuum in as many years has croaked. Last week I was absentmindedly vacuuming under Avelyn’s crib when it sucked up one of her socks and then the fragrant aroma of burnt rubber filled the room.
Blogging is such a peculiar thing. I write a semi-deep, introspective and vulnerable post about my insecurities and issues with my body and barely anyone says a word.
My feelings toward you vary daily. Lately I have been torn between marveling at your capabilities and cursing your tendencies.
It’s been so hard to find peace with you.
I had to use The Google to look up the correct spelling of hemorrhoid, you know.
The lights were out and I laid in bed untangling the day’s thoughts when I asked Steve, “Hey, have you heard of Freegans?”
“No,” he yawned, deliberately.