397. Nothing's right.

Nothing's right.

Nothing's normal.

I've just been counting and it's been raining for 8 months!!! 8 months. lose to solid rain non-stop for 8 months.

I got woken up last night with heavy rain bouncing noisily off the tiles in the middle of the night. I went to work with morning still carrying my umbrella. This afternoon I came home from work using it and the rest of the afternoon I watch the rain falling.

I got depressed. Normally when I get depressed I cook or bake but the two kids I have home right now have got cake coming out of their ears. And even if my son said can I have more of that chicken fried rice it was really good is there some more? and that is so impressive that my son is paying me a compliment that I should rush into that kitchen of mine once again I don't. I nearly told him not to be his Oliver Twist but I didn't because that makes me go into a rambling teacher mode about how the poor kids in the Victorian times and you don't know your luck and at least Dickens wrote about it and you don't even read Dickens. That just would not have been a good thing on a depressingly wet June afternoon.

The next thing on my list would be to call my husband but he's at work and these days he's really busy and sometimes he's in places I cannot even reach him on the phone. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO COPE?

I could do some cleaning. That often works to beat the blues. I put the radio on and I do ironing or floors. Today I chose floors. Ralph the dog hates it. I ignored his negative comments and did the floors. But then the floors wouldn't dry because of the humid weather. 

My son came down.

'Don't come downstairs please.' I said.

'Even in my socks? You went into the kitchen with socks on?'

'Well mine are clean yours are dirty.'

Surprisingly he did not argue with that and went straight back upstairs. Still these floors had to be dry at some point. I turned the heating on. And waited for it to be dry and hot. 

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And got fed up waiting.

I realised it was because it wasn't cold enough! It was wet button cold. Lind of tropical. I went upstairs. Passed my son's bedroom.

'Is the floor dry?' He shouted.

'No. Still wet.' I replied.

I wen back downstairs carrying the precious mobile heating control system and went into the kitchen ans stuck it in the fridge.

'There. Now you might find cold enough.' I said using the sane tone of voice I use with naughty kids in the classroom.

And I forgot about it.