I am so tired of being cold in this apartment. All winter-long I’m cold with the drafts. In fact, last year when we spent Christmas in Vegas, and it snowed an easy 20 degrees colder than LA I couldn’t believe how warm I was. When you’re inside and warm, it makes being out in the cold easier. When you’re cold inside, you’re cold outside too. Relative temperature be d–… well, you get the picture.
Now with all the downstairs windows and doors open all day to help the carpet dry I’m not even warm with my heavy sweater and shea butter house socks. I’m so sick of this place.
As for the living arrangements, I had everything under control and manageable (relatively speaking) until they had to move a bookshelf into the kitchen and another into the small walking space in the dining area. I thought I was going to lose it tonight at suppertime, disappointed with myself at how quickly I lost my adventuresome spirit. I can handle worse than this, sure!
But something with the rancid milk diaper bag, or the insolent child, or forgetting the library books, or being later-than-ever-before to school, or just being off my game set me off. Despite the gorgeous walk I took in the perfect weather with my stroller fixed, by the end of the day I lost all the gains I’d made with the walk.
But after supper, eaten on the stairs again, with the carpet so close to dry, the boys and I played. We played Elefun. We played trains. And we played ring-around-the-Mummy until they all fell down. In the perfectness of wide-open carpets I reminded myself that I can endure much worse than this, that this is nothing, and that this is almost over. And in the end, things will be even better than before.