Torture by appliance

There is nothing sexy about this.
My refrigerator died.
The compressor.
Like its heart giving out.

And since I've had no housemate since the end of November, I am horribly horribly broke. Still, I went out and dropped a thousand dollars on a nice new refrigerator, though I passed up on getting a third bottom-freezer fridge (which I actually like so much better) because they keep on dying.

My life is littered with the corpses of appliances and relationships.

What I really need to be doing is packing for a week at music camp, and cleaning up the house for the friend who will keep the cats company while I'm gone, and finding some new carpeting for the unrented room that I am also going to paint a lovely pale yellow so it will rent more easily except dammit, it is really the sadist's room and the old knotty pine wood paneling seems much more suitable to our activities.

But he has yet to offer to pay the rent himself in order to maintain our privacy and the delight of having a room set aside as a place for us to be together.

So I am in a bad mood today. Well, more vulnerable than bad. Very vulnerable. Which I think is how he wants me today. It makes me more responsive to his current training plans. Still, I am feeling tender and weepy and tired from unrelated insomnia and worried about money and getting everything ready for my trip... so everyone should order multiple copies of the book with my story so I'll feel loved.

The end.

Time to curl up in bed with a cat or two.

[she yawns]

And then tomorrow I get to throw out spoiled food.

Please tell me that you love me!

PS - if you're ordering a physical copy of the book, you'll probably get it faster from Amazon than from the publisher.

PPS - this didn't start out as an ad for the book. I promise. I just needed to moan and pout a bit. But my mind holds its own reins...