Bye, Snow

Bye, Snow

Well, yesterday the temperature rose and rose and most of the snow and all of the icicles went away, so I’m glad I got a couple pictures yesterday morning. I also went on back to work and discovered that yesterday’s walks were not free: I have managed to do something awful to my left calf. At work I was limping around and surly (I’m always kind of surly, I know, but more than usual) and by the time I got home I was so tired that I went to bed at 9:00. My leg still hurts, too, and I have to go back to work in an hour. Pity me! Oh wait, I’m doing that fine on my own. Hee. Oh well.

At 5:30 this morning (going to bed at 9 has its own issues) I woke up and went to the bathroom and was convinced I heard water running. OH GOD I thought, a broken pipe! ARGH! So I went silently all around the house, listening intently, listening, in fact, with the sort of crazed intensity that is only matched by my sniffing intensity when, alone and late at night, I think I smell smoke. There is never any smoke, just paranoia, and there was no water running, just the heat and paranoia. I think, anyway, that if there was a broken pipe, it might not be the worst of my problems.

I am not sure, because in the annals of paranoia, we have long had an uneasy joke in the family about someone living in the garage. Oh ha ha! we say, yes, that must have been the garage people who stole all the socks, ate all the bread, drank all the wine and they are why you can never find batteries. Well. Last night during my Moment of Plumbing Fear, I went into the laundry room and it was there that I noticed that the lights in the garage were on. There is no reason for the garage lights to be on.

There is also no reason for the garage door to be wide open this morning, but it is.

I don’t think either of the kids came home last night (and even if they did, you can guarantee that Auds anyway did not venture near the garage; she’s even more afraid of it than I am.) I think it is just me and the dogs and the cat here. Yes, just me, and I am very carefully avoiding the vicinity of the laundry room and the garage by writing this because it’s ridiculous to think that there might be . . . somebody. . . living in the garage. Or something. Right?

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