This will be necessarily short, me thinks. I'm huddled in the car, baby Matilda asleep on my lap as I hunch over to the passenger's side to type. Ossie's asleep in the back. We are parked right outside of the house, which we cannot actually enter, as we are on day 4 (or 5?) of finishing the floors. SIGH.

I am having a hard time with this house stuff lately. This house stuff is affecting my patience with the kids, my patience with Jeff, with myself, with the dogs (and the frequency of their feedings, I'm sorry to say), etc. I fantasize, quite often, of taking a torch to the place. Or just moving away. That one is probably more my style. The house stuff is a weight. I am the wicked witch of the east and the house stuff has flattened me.

I want to live in town. I want sidewalks. I want coffee that I can walk to, or ride my bike to. I want something, anything, close enough to walk or ride my bike to. I am a misanthrope, true. But I am also a human being and have the need to rub elbows with my fellows on occasion. I want to see people and smile as I walk past. I just don't want to have conversations, you see?

(Quick aside: I have decided that part of what killed me about last week's horrible playdate-itude was the social rejection. In all honestly I did not, do not, and will not ever like one of these women (I will call her Sarah because that is her name). I did like the other one, though, and was hurt that she got all cliquish with Sarah like that and then both of them flat out did not talk to me. Like part of their female bonding experience was acting like I was a social pariah. It really hurt my feelings. I have been there too many times, my friends. With groups of women, especially, I notice this tendency to form these quick relationships and one way to make it happen quickly to have that In Group Out Group dynamic and I am always always in the Out Group (which, thank god), and this does not feel good even when I never ever not if you paid me 1 million dollars wanto be in the In Group. Do you know what I mean? Like there's a basic human as social animal experience of rejection that hurts to the core. Or something. ANYWAY. We saw our other friends on Saturday and that was so much better. They are actually great and wonderful and not at all In Group Out Group people and so I was happy and hopeful that someday I too will have a playdate of my very own.)

That was most definitely not a quick aside.

What I have been thinking and thinking about today, driving all over and yon to get machine rentals to finish the damned floors: I am trying to not be so angry about it. It's not working. I'm really mad at Jeff. Really. Not even so much for putting us in the position (since, yeah, I was right there signing the papers too), but for having this as his dream. Can you believe it? But, friends, it's a fucking miserable dream. This house this house this house. We are sleeping in the damned trailer again, except now there are four of us, and I have a crick in my neck that won't go away and the heat cut off in the middle of the freezing rain on Saturday night, and Ossie has no place to play, and I am so hateful that I have no friends to take him to.

It's a pickle!

My parents are due to arrive tomorrow. Does this mean it all gets worse or better?