A disturbed day

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You know those days that we all have every so often when things happen? Not necessarily horrible things, or good things, but just things that disrupt the normal day.

Yesterday was one of those days.

It all started when I tried to write in the area I recently defined as my office, which just happens to be near the bathroom. All went well for the first ten minutes, until the sound of running water disrupted my train of thought. I waited for it to stop and dove right back into writing as soon as silence resumed.

Which only lasted ten minutes. The sound recurred every ten minutes throughout the rest of the day. No matter what I tried to do to make it stop, the merry tinkle of wasted water always came back. Just like clockwork. Every ten minutes for five seconds. On and on.

After an hour or so I had become so accustomed to the rhythm that I was able to block it out. Unfortunately, it was about that time that the workers next door decided to start in with hammers and drills. Bang, bang, bang. Brrrrrrrrr. Bang, bang. Brrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrrrrrr. 

That too lasted the rest of the day. Only unlike the running water it was erratic. I couldn’t manage to convince my brain to ignore the noise, so writing time was over. (As was my sanity!)

Later in the day there was an incident with my little Schnoodle. The other day I had bought this really cool metal stand that holds both her water and food bowls.

She’s picky, so after I gave her food I waited around to see if she was going to eat. When she began gobbling her dinner I sighed in relief and went into the other room to fold clothes. The next thing I heard was several loud crashes and high-pitched yelps.

I ran into the kitchen to see poor little Pepper racing around trying to escape the metal stand. Her tags had fallen between two of the decorative rods of the stand, and when she raised her head the stand had come with it.

I’m sure in her mind she was being attacked by a giant cage that was trying to capture her!

Food and water were everywhere. I grabbed Pepper and disconnected her tags from the stand just as my daughter, who had been upstairs, ran in asking who had screamed. She was surprised to hear that the screamer (from upstairs it had sounded like a child) was the trembling little fur ball crouched in my lap.

She’s a cute little thing. Totally undeserving of the abuse she received from her food stand.

She’s still mad at her attacker. I tried to take a picture of her next to her stand. It took a lot of coercion to get her anywhere near the thing, and when I finally succeeded she refused to look at it.

I guess if she doesn’t see it it isn’t really there.

The last incident was quite a bit scarier, at least for me.

I decided to eat some leftovers I had brought home from a restaurant. Since it was in a paper container I put it into the microwave, pressed two minutes, and ran into the other room to grab something.

I returned to find my husband putting out the fire that had been my box of food. The flames had been more than a foot high!

Anyone in the mood for fire-roasted leftovers? Anyone?

What do you think?