which_chick | (no subject)

Something there is that doesn't love a wall... and that something would be me. We're rebuilding the retaining wall at 216, which is a rather painstaking process involving a lot of very heavy rocks, some mortar, and a hose. It's a lot like work but the weather is nice and I get lots of my RDA for heavy lifting. Also this morning we schlepped four truckloads (at least, might have been five) of stuff out of Melva's apartment. Melva and Freddie and Vickie and the dog are all gone. Yay!

Today I learned that my house, which regularly gets below sixty degrees F, is way too cold for betta fish. The remaining one was dead when I got home from work today. *sigh* Sorry about that, fish. I believe that hereafter I'll stick to the brotherhood of warmbloods. Things without their own internal heat generation systems are not going to thrive in my house because the heating season ends in the middle of April regardless of what the weather does. When it is not heating season, the floor temperature in my house is fifty degrees. (No, that's not too cold. You get used to it after a while, really. Also, fifty-degree indoor temperatures make the cat more affectionate.) It's still freaking cold here at night in May and I refuse to run the damn heat. May is not part of the heating season.

I also learned that apparently it takes freaking forever to have a baby even when you go to the hospital at oh-dark-hundred in the morning to be induced into labor... either that or they're too busy over there what with the freshly-had baby to let any of us know what the hell is going on. I expect we'll find out sooner or later.

In related baby-having news, Krista had her baby a couple of days ago, maybe two. It was a boy (as expected) and she and Gary named him Quentin. Everybody is doing well on that front. I have no idea when Larry's wife Amy is due but I expect it's sometime this summer, possibly July.

Everyone's doing the baby thing but me. This feels a lot like when I was in seventh grade and everybody (Just the girls, people, the girls. Not really everybody. All the seventh-grade girls in my little ratty-ass high school in redneck hell. It *seemed* like everybody at the time.) was all gung-ho about trying out for cheerleading. This included girls that would never, in a million years, make the cheerleading squad even if all the other girls suddenly dropped dead of food poisoning.

I didn't get what was the big deal then. It was like I was missing some gene, that I did not understand what the appeal was or why I was supposed to want this thing that I did not want. People (girls, again) didn't understand. They wanted to know what was wrong with me. Were my parents not allowing me to try out for cheerleading? (No. My parents didn't opt for not allow very often because I wasn't all that tractable and it was usually a hell of a lot more trouble than it was worth to not allow me to do things.) *sigh* Whatever it was that was wrong with me, it still is. All ya'll go have babies. I'm not doing it and (this is important) I would still not be doing it even if I had the parts to do it with, which I do not.