I’ve been spending the weekend finally mitigating a problem in my bathroom. Whoever decided the bathrooms of Capes built in forties should have windows, has likely gotten an earful, so it’s not my intention to add to that. Rather, this is some curious self-reflection. I think it’s kind of campy that my determination to get this job done should result in the “Imperial Death March” from Star Wars playing in my head. Darth was, after all, a doer, with that Death Star construction and all. Luke was a lover, though his affections were at first misplaced. (Eiew!)
In any case, the reward for being home on this fine day will be being able to walk the tenth of a mile with a lawn chair to where my town stages fireworks. Only foot traffic, to which my town’s finest give precedence. Sweet!
But the reward for doing this work will be freedom from worrying about an undone, not the enslavement of the Evil Empire. But to attain that freedom, I have to actually do the work, and not just blog about it.
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