Captain Adventure cried a lot last night. He’d wake up every hour or so and let off a few yowls – just enough to make sure I was fully awake, not quite enough to get me out of bed.
I’m pretty sure he was hot and pissed off about it. Because we were all hot and pissed off about it. Why? Because our lousy rotten piece of crap ancient excuse of an air conditioner can’t cool the house down. It does a pretty good job on the downstairs hallway (where the thermostat is), but upstairs or in the playroom? Eh. Not so good.
My parents actually complained about it the last time they stayed here with the kids. “Honey, we tried to figure out the air conditioner…” my mom said. “But it seemed like it just didn’t work upstairs?”
No. No it doesn’t. The ducts are falling apart, and the unit itself is barely puffing along. It also doesn’t heat well in the winter. Costs about $50 per instance to even look at the thermostat, but doesn’t actually heat or cool the house.
Thanks for noticing.
And for a mere ten thousand dollars, I can have it all fixed. The ducts (or lack thereof), and a new HVAC unit to push cool and/or hot air through them.
These are the times that take me back to my misspent youth. Misspent as in, “I misspent so much money it absolutely boggles the mind!”
Because right now, as I sit here allegedly working but really thinking only about how hot it is and resisting the urge to wash my hands for about the six hundredth time today because they feel sticky, I’m more than ready to spend ten thousand dollars I don’t technically have on the theory that I’m only going to go through this life once, and I don’t want to do it with sweaty hands.
271% interest? $700 monthly payments for ten years? No problem. As long as it means I can go to bed tonight without feeling as though I’m going to sweat to death, I’m sold. I don’t care that this is only going to last another month, or that it’s only two-three months out of twelve (plus another two-three months of the ‘now I’m too cold’ part, which I guess makes it up to six months out of the year misery is upon us because of the stupid piece of crap HVAC unit and associated poor ductwork).
I want it fixed, and I want it fixed now.
Being a grownup sucks.
It’s like when my husband says, “You’re getting all stressed out. Why don’t you take a weekend away, I’ll stay with the kids, you just go do a spa trip or something” and I, as CFO of the Den, have to say, “No, that would be fiscally imprudent at this particular time.”
That’s just wrong. Because of course I resent it, but who am I going to resent? Who’s the big bad guy creating this problem?
Me, that’s who. I’m the one saying I can’t go. And how am I supposed to punish myself for being such a stuck-up jerk? Whine at myself? Refuse to make me coffee in the morning on the basis that I am not, all appearances to the contrary aside, my slave?
Which doesn’t work anyway, because then I just say to myself, “OK, fine, go sulk. I’ll make my own damned coffee. When you want to discuss this like a rational adult instead of being a petulant little brat, come see me. I’ll be in my office researching tax-exempt bonds.”
And then I go stalking off with my coffee and leave me kicking dirt clumps and slamming kitchen cupboards.
I just don’t understand me, that’s the problem. I never have understood me. I probably never will, any more than I understand why I put up with me. Anybody else would have left me long ago but no! I stay with me.
Most of the time, anyway.
Even though I make me so mad sometimes I could spit nails…
Bill Barnes and Gene Ambaum
1 day ago