Good morning, good morning.

I’m currently sitting in our bedroom, surrounded by our dining table chairs, living room plants, and other items that do not belong in here.

The baby is sleeping and our floor is finally getting repaired/replaced.

Ever since the fall after we moved here, the panels have shifted a bit all over – in the kitchen, in the living room, etc. – and I have brought it up – several times – to the maintenance folks.

Problem is, they can’t just swap out a panel for a new one.

It’s an entire overhaul.

So, they put it off. They put me off. I used blue tape to cover up the popped up corners in an effort to avoid injury.

But then, many months ago, my toe got stubbed on one of these popped up panels and I started bleeding. At which point, I went into FULL ON RAGE.

LIKE WHY DO I HAVE TO LIVE WITH BLUE TAPE AROUND MY APARTMENT? WHY HAS IT BEEN OVER TWO YEARS AND YOU’VE ALL BEEN STALLING ON THIS SHIT?

And even now, as they’ve contracted with this company to do our floors, it was on us to move all our furniture out of the living room/kitchen. Otherwise they’d charge us $500 to do it.

It’s all ridiculous.

I tried to fight back a little bit.

I sent an email, using italics and underlines to make a point. Explaining that I work two part-time jobs, I have two children, my husband is a resident, AND I HAVE NO EFFING TIME TO BE MOVING FURNITURE BY MYSELF.

But to no avail.

So, somehow, in between packing our park sandwiches for our picnic last night, and writing a report for today, I shoved things into our rooms so they could work on our floors.

My fingers are typing REALLY HARD on my keyboard right now. So there is clearly some leftover rage inside of me.

The thing is.

This should not have been a thing I had to deal with.

But sometimes the effort in doing the physical labor is almost easier than the fight I have in me to keep battling the same fight I’ve been fighting for a while now.

It was like the dishwasher shit. (But, side note, it wasn’t exactly a win because they replaced it with a dishwasher that – when you try to pull it open – hits the handle of a cabinet, so you have to awkwardly open it and pull it one direction to avoid the collision).

I know these are small pebbles in the grand scheme of life.

But, sometimes, when you’re in the middle of hearing a 4-year old playing his stupid recorder and the baby crying because he’s teething and in pain, and you try to open up your dishwasher and it rams into the handle, YOU JUST WANT TO SCREAM AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS FOR SO LONG.

So that’s where I’m at.

On the plus side, this kind of forced me to do a deep clean of some furniture and baseboards. And we’ll have safe floors for our new crawler.

Okay, that is all.

We’re living here for two more years. Maybe I can milk another dishwasher out of ’em. (Might take me two years to get a new one, so probs not worth it).

Okay, I’m going to go listen to some calming music and eat a snack and drink some water. Because, wow, I still feel anger.

BYE!