Christ

I’m into day four of an epic headache. Disprin isn’t doing shit for it and I’m about to murder one or more of my children if they don’t find a recreational activity that doesn’t involve slamming into me repeatedly with a kitten held high in each hand. Garrett, I’m looking at you here. Your affection for me is touching, but you really don’t need to sit in my lap for a straight hour while I read Wikipedia.

And yeah, you too Caira. Right now you’re screaming “Marrrrrk! MARK! MARK! DAD! DADDDDDDDDD!” from the back bedroom because a daddy longlegs is in there; I have chosen to ignore you. Should you read this in later years, I want you to know that yes your dad is a jerk. <3

Stuff in the house has been breaking, too: The hob shocks Mariah, the shower leaks water and several cupboards lack shelves. But our landlords have been absolutely nothing but wonderful, helpful people. They’ve come round twice to fix the fridge, they’ve supplied (and continue to supply) furniture for the household. And better yet, they are going to replace the fridge and bring an electrician in to look at the hob. If I wasn’t one of them, I would be more amused at two socially reticent geeks trying to talk to our landlords while simultaneously doing their best to not be in the room.

Headache, fuck!

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