Monster truck rally

The title of this post is a non-sequiter. I couldn't think of the right title. I tried to post earlier today, but the photo-uploading thingie wasn't working, and I wasn't up to the task of making it cooperate against its will. Since that nostalgic post never happened, now I get to totally fall apart in public.

The darling, dillapidated old house in the photo is my mother's last home. My oldest sister Martha is moving out of it on Tuesday. I have until Saturday to get it completely cleaned out of junk and garbage and 13 years' worth of neglect.

That is more than enough to precipitate my upset tonight.

However, I have, oh!, so much more to cry about.

I'm probably going to have to pass on a potentially lucrative artwork assignment because my washing machine has broken... again.

Now, you're asking yourself why a broken washing machine would so wreck my schedule, but keep in mind, my schedule is tenuous even at the best of moments.

During the next week, I have to take my husband to the Atlanta airport so he can fly to Miami and have a nice vacation with his best friend Jim. I fly so many places -- and so often -- and I *hate* flying. But Wesley, who doesn't mind it, doesn't travel nearly as often as I do, and I'm so happy that he has this opportunity to go to a warm, tropical place and enjoy himself for a while. Miami is a great city, even if you don't have a dear friend living there. Wesley is going to have a blast.

Monday, Wesley will go to work as usual, and then he will rush like a madman to Athens to get three more things finished at Mama's house. Since he's going to be gone for the rest of the week, Monday evening is his only opportunity to retrieve the rocking chair that Mama rocked me to sleep in when I was a tot. I want that chair, even though it is seriously battered and desperately needs major restoration, including new springs, new stuffing, new paint, and new upholstery.

On Tuesday morning, he will put me and his suitcase into the beloved Prius (buy a hybrid and hug a tree!), and we will go to Atlanta to catch his flight to Miami. We leave at about 5:30 in the morning. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't deal with mornings very well. So I get to sleep on the way to Atlanta. One assumes that once Wesley is on the plane, I will have to rouse myself enough to drive home again later that morning.

After that, I have to clean out Martha's house. Martha is handicapped and cannot do it herself.

Here is where the broken washing machine becomes a big problem. We bought this wretched machine in July of 2000, when our 7-year-old washing machine died dramatically, hissing, sizzling, and leaking water in all directions. Just last year, this "new" washing machine started leaking badly, and we got it fixed -- for far too much money.

Now it does not spin properly at the end of the rinse cycle, which leaves the laundry sopping wet and way too heavy to put into the dryer. I -- this very minute, as I am typing -- I have drenched towels draped across the walls of my porch and carport in an effort to get them dry enough not to burn out the dryer's delicate motor.

Wait -- I have to get hold of myself before I can go on --

My finances were already at the breaking point. Last week, I told Wesley, "I have to get a part-time job." The fact is -- I spend more money than Wesley makes. I'm not sure when this happened, but it did, and somehow I cannot keep up with the evil Visa bill or save enough money to take a vacation this year. I clip coupons, I shop sales, I am ruthlessly frugal... and yet I'm falling behind. There is no help for it. I'm a glutton. The only thing that saves me money right now is my Prius.

Thank God for my Prius, or I would be in debt up to my *eyeballs*.

Wesley is *not* keen on my getting a part-time job. For one thing, I am particularly unsuited to working out in the real world. It makes me a little crazy. I haven't worked out there in the real world for nine *years*. I can't tell you how many jobs I've had -- camp counselor, advertising copywriter, eyeglasses salesperson, clothing salesperson, museum desk clerk, teacher, substitute teacher, professional gardener -- they all sucked out loud.

And frankly, the last jobs I held were through a temp agency that loved me to death because I had a high score on their little aptitude test *and* a college degree, so they made a ton of money out of leasing me out to various companies, usually in *accounting*. Can you believe it??? I am the worst mathmatician I know, but my temp agency always sent me to work in accounting. Every single temp job I ever had was offered to me as a full-time position. I always said no, because I could only stand working as a temp if I knew that there was light at the end of the tunnel and I didn't have to *stay* in that job longer than 7 or 8 months. (Usually not as long as that, really.)

I would love to say, "I'm a great employee." In a way, I am, because I'm a fast learner and responsible. But the truth is, I hate going to work every day. I hate it. It sucks my soul out of my head and makes me a very dark, very depressed, very dull, very unhappy person.

And I'm willingly thinking about getting a job that is going to turn me into the worst me possible.

So I can't take on any art assignments right now. I can't take on any writing assignments. I need to make some dough, fast. I need to buy a washing machine. I need to pay off the evil Visa bill. I NEED TO SAVE FOR A VACATION. We are all about vacation in this house. It keeps us sane. All four of us. And as completely bonkers as I am most of the time, we can use all the sanity we can get.

I don't have the time, money, or sanity to deal with a broken washing machine.

All things considered, I would rather be a monster truck rally fan. *Those* people know how to have fun. There. Now the title isn't a non-sequiter.