It's a sign

I had a photograph to post tonight, and the imaging link isn't working.

Typical.

I don't read horoscopes, but I suspect if I checked mine this week, it would say, "Stay in bed. In fact, go ahead and crawl under the bed."

It took two days to buy a new washing machine, and by the time I inked the deal with the lovely salesperson at the nearest furniture and appliance emporium, their delivery service was booked up until mid-Friday.

Martha officially moved out of Mama's house on Tuesday.

Wesley overslept the same day, causing us to have to rush madly -- and without benefit of adequate caffeine -- to the Atlanta airport.

Did I mention that Atlanta is three hours away from us? Oh, my. Yes. Yes, indeedy. And that's if you drive like I do. If you drive like Wesley, it takes longer. Oh, and Atlanta has a profound propensity for a nasty little thing called "traffic."

He missed his flight. Had to take a later one. At least his plane didn't fall out of the sky.

So I woke up this morning, knowing that I needed to go clean out Mama's house. I didn't feel so hot. In fact, I wanted to stay in bed. Instead, I got up and called Martha to see if the Pride car (a large, civic-funded dumpster that the city will drag into your yard and leave it there for all sorts of trash and rubble) was at the house yet.

It was not.

I went to the house anyway and moved three more boxes of stuff over to Amy's storage unit.

Then I walked around and took some pictures. I had to use Emily's camera. Because my camera is in Miami.

(Oh, dear heavens, I just realized that South Beach and cameras really don't mix.)

So basically, all I can say is that the week continues to go badly, we're down to three towels, and I have absolutely no idea where a laundromat is. Thursday will be "clear a path to the old washer" day, and on Friday I have to let the delivery guys in, and then rush to Athens and scrape the last of the trash out of Mama's house. Please let the Pride car be there by then. The new owners are supposed to take possession on Saturday.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make a sign. An abandoned dog has taken up residence at my house, and the nearest animal shelter won't take her because they have already *had* her. If they take her back, they'll euthanize her immediately.

I guess it's just not a good week for middle-aged bitches.