Feed Me, Seymour!

So we got up this morning to a wet, sloppy, blowing snowfall. Won't stick, it's not cold enough on the flats, and it is already turning to rain, but we had to take our camper into the shop in the middle of it because that's when they could slot us, and traffic was, well, rush hour traffic compounded by icky weather.

Not being a morning person, I'd prefer that such things should commence no earlier than, say, eleven a.m. Those folks who run around going on about the beauty of the sunrise and all? It's just like a sunset, except on the other side of town ...

Our camper has in it a toilet, and it was leaking. Having expended my handyman abilities by tightening everything I could reach that was loose, and doing so in a space designed for Lilliputians, I realized it needed a new seal, and those aren't like the normal wax rings you can get at the hardware store for the house johns, so, in it had to go.

The idea of looking up to see the dogs wading neck-deep through black water effluvia in the camper is not one I wish to contemplate in any detail. If you think a toilet backing up at home is bad, picture the scene rolling down the freeway at sixty with it swirling around your ankles ...

Nope, no thank you, it went in to to the professionals.

Income taxes loom, the toothdriller wants to send his kids to college on my dime, the dog's surgery took another bite, and last month's heating bill during the cold and snow is the highest it's ever been in this house, and that with the thermostat dialed down every night. Easy come, easy go, so it is said, but have you ever noticed that spending it seems to happen a lot faster than making it?