It's 2:00 pm and I'm holed up in my bedroom.
Thankfully, B has logged me onto his laptop. Otherwise I'd be in here staring at the walls. Or face down with a pillow pulled tightly around my head.
It's day two of house guests and I'm done. D. O. N. E. Too bad they're here through Sunday.
Yes, you heard me. Sunday. As in two days from now.
The boys (okay, two men and an eleven year old) are out in the living room playing Halo. G is yelling in his crib refusing to take a needed nap as the boys are talking WAY TOO LOUDLY in the living room.
The only other female is pregnant and has been taking a nap since 11.
I want a nap. I need one. I'm crabby crabberson.
So here I am. Sequestered by choice. Antisocial much?
Nah, just gearing up for another meal prep, another solo kitchen clean up. A baseball game tonight - which under normal circumstances would be fun, but not so much when you go with someone who gets angry when another person sits in front of them in the stadium.
The nerve, right? Someone else plants their tush in the seat they paid for? Atrocious.
The last time we all went to a game, I was so fed up with the whining (yes, a thirty year old man whining) that I switched seats with him. Yeah, I couldn't see over the 6'4" gentleman in front of me, but it was better than the alternative.
And well, karma happened. No sooner had we switched, the empty seat in front of where I was sitting was taken. By a guy who was at least 6'6". It was deliciously perfect.
All this said, I can't say our house guests are bad people. They're not, they're quite nice, in fact. But three days is long for anyone.
After three days, I'd get sick of myself.