I don’t know why I rush home after work, considering how insanely bored I get when I’m sitting on my couch. I finished all the eps of “Lost Girl” and now I’m stuck watching week to week like everyone else, and at the moment nothing else on Netflix is the least bit tempting. I feel stalled in my painting. None of my books are calling out to me, and I can’t knit right now ’cause it bothers my shoulder. Which is to say, by the time dinner has been ingested, I’m wondering if it’s too early to go to bed–at 7:30pm.
So tonight I decided I’d take a bath and maybe read a chapter of my book on basic pool techniques. I really want to be a bath person, ’cause it sounds so relaxing, but as I proved yet again, I’m totally not. I get overheated and yes, bored to tears, within minutes of getting into a hot bath. This time I lasted less than ten minutes before giving up, but at least I did feel a little more relaxed.
Relaxed, that is, until the building manager came knocking on my door at 10pm. ?! Turns out the rush of draining water from my first-ever bath in this apartment was too much for the pipes to handle, and all that soapy, me-marinated water soaked through to the building foyer below.
So there I am, in my Happy Bunny pajamas, surrounded by the dry goods from my last grocery trip that I was too lazy to put away, having to let the hottie building manager into my end-of-the-week-slovenly-and-disgusting apartment to check out the totally innocent-looking, still-blue-stained-from-my-last-hair-dye-session bathtub.
Fuck my life, yo. And fuck Valentine’s Day too.
Anyway, he’s gone now, the dry goods are put away, the dirty clothes are in the hamper, and the rest of the cleaning can wait until morning, hopefully before the plumbers arrive. At least I’m not bored anymore.