Thus begins my 20-minute Write Challenge.

(I promised myself I would do this every day.  I’ve done it twice, two weeks apart.)

As I lay in bed at night, I have many stories running through my head.  They seem to be gone in the morning.

I’ve noticed people are not reacting as much to my blog.  I think there are complications with the site.  Is that what I’m blaming it on?  Or is it because I’ve only posted three stories in the last six months.

Maybe I should face the fact that they’re just not interested any more.  Plus the fact that WordPress has been difficult to navigate lately.  I’ll tell it to “publish” but it doesn’t, but enough with the excuses.

I have tried to figure out what … oh-oh, the phone dinged, I forgot what I was going to say.

I would like to gather my writings and publish them myself.  But every morning, I wake up and have 1000 things to do – clean the junk out of the sink in the kitchen, unload or re-load the dishwasher, maybe throw in a load of wash, which will sit there for a couple of days.

Yesterday, they replaced the broken sink in the bathroom.  Martin, my new friend and handyman, showed up here with someone named Effrin? at 7:30 a.m. to replace the sink.  After months of waiting, he didn’t call beforehand.  They never do.  Do you think it’s because we’re just a couple of old farts who never go anywhere?  That we’re home all the time?  Don’t answer that.

I was on the toilet with a serious task, not wearing a bra, of course, and a plan to relax for a bit. Maybe go back to bed?

I got up, answered the door while our little dog, Teenie, barked her ass off standing behind my ankles. 

There was his smiling face and a twinkle in his eye.  “Do you remember me?  Sent by Vincente?”  So that IS it.  He thinks we are senile.  How could I forget Martin, accent over the “i”.  

Of course! I remember you.  You’re the guy who shows up unannounced for any repair job, doesn’t speak much English, and leaves a mess.

I had Larry grab a grocery bag, and I just swept everything on the counter into it.  God we have a lot of crap.  I think I’ve used that word twice in this essay now.

After they left, I had to put everything back, but I decided I should do a deep clean on the bathroom.  I picked up the rugs, swept, scrubbed around the toilet and the shower, etc.

Last night, just before bed, I opened up the top drawer to get my nightly necessities.  It was (and is) covered with a fine coating of white dust.  Arrgh.

I guess it was too good to be true that they cleaned up after themselves.  I DID see Effrin wipe down the door and cabinet under the sink – that I had emptied, by the way.  

Oh well, I guess I’ll clean that up today and then relax.

Did I mention the whole thing EXHAUSTED me?  It did.  And it’s so f*&%#ing hot, which fact makes it even harder to clean.  And did I forget to mention?  I’m eighty-one.  If I don’t do a damned thing on any given day, I’m okay.  If I brush my teeth, it makes me tired.

And, oh yes, Mercury is in retrograde.  That might explain why the framing on our bedroom closet picked today to fall off and hit my hand.  I suppose I’m grateful it didn’t hit my head.

Our automatic sprinklers are not working, our washer and dryer are on the brink of failure, I can’t open packages any more, and the refrigerator is making funny noises.  Been there, done that one during the pandemic.  I thought I would be dead before I needed another refrigerator.  So far, the two of us are plodding along.

I need a housekeeper.  I’d like to have David Beckham who said he can’t stand a mess in the kitchen before he goes to bed, so he stays up past anyone else in the house and brings everything back to order.  Or at least someone who is of the same mind as David Beckham.  

 I wonder if Brad Pitt is busy these days? 

The End