I am annoyed.

I know, I know, when am I not annoyed? But this time there is a specific reason.

I work best at night. Probably something about sunlight being my kryptonite or something. Whatever the reason, I tend to get the most done between one and five am. It is my preferred productive goofing off period.

Last night I had to be in bed by midnight because someone is supposed to be here AT NINE to rip out my faulty sliding glass door that hasn't actually moved since March (and which I just gave up and started arranging furniture in front of) and replace it with French Doors.

Yeah, yeah, they gave me 36 hours notice and I got my self out of bed at seven something so that I could be showered and dressed and have all four furballs medicated and behind closed doors (or outside in his dog run, as the case may be) by fifteen 'til, because I am just that good.

And here it is. Nine thirty. No F'in maintenance people and no way to call and ask where the HELL they are or when they might be showing up. I could be asleep right now. Or at Sarah's learning how to mess up no bake cookies and wrapping Christmas presents.

But no. I'm here listening to three cats attempting to dismantle two different doors with only their teeth and whatever rudimentary tools they can manage to use with no thumbs.

I hate people.

I am annoyed.

I know, I know, when am I not annoyed? But this time there is a specific reason.

I work best at night. Probably something about sunlight being my kryptonite or something. Whatever the reason, I tend to get the most done between one and five am. It is my preferred productive goofing off period.

Last night I had to be in bed by midnight because someone is supposed to be here AT NINE to rip out my faulty sliding glass door that hasn't actually moved since March (and which I just gave up and started arranging furniture in front of) and replace it with French Doors.

Yeah, yeah, they gave me 36 hours notice and I got my self out of bed at seven something so that I could be showered and dressed and have all four furballs medicated and behind closed doors (or outside in his dog run, as the case may be) by fifteen 'til, because I am just that good.

And here it is. Nine thirty. No F'in maintenance people and no way to call and ask where the HELL they are or when they might be showing up. I could be asleep right now. Or at Sarah's learning how to mess up no bake cookies and wrapping Christmas presents.

But no. I'm here listening to three cats attempting to dismantle two different doors with only their teeth and whatever rudimentary tools they can manage to use with no thumbs.

I hate people.