I’m such a stress mess tonight! It’s been a crazy, and I do mean crazy, day.
Right now I’m using the block editor in a way that’s working for me. I managed to hide the darned plus sign.
I wish I could capture my evening articulately, but I’m so braindead. It’s been… interesting. I was talking to Brutus about the results we got from our contest. We were discussing the judges’ feedback and scores, and all that. I was also talking to Sonya at the same time. She was asking when the 3-day novella event is, since she intends to participate. It’s alarming that she hasn’t already marked it on her calendar, since it’s a week and two hours from now.
And then Sonya had this freakout where she was like, “Meggerz, did you get me to enroll in the wrong event? I wanted to enter the new one, not the old one. You made me enroll in the old one! Bad Meggerz!”
“I most certainly did not! Check your registration,” I suggested. Then I started to pray. Please, God, don’t let me have misled Sonya to the wrong event!
Five minutes later… “Oh, you’re right!”
“As I always tell my dad, I’m always right,” I said smugly. We were messing around, of course. In truth, I’m almost never right.
Then, there was a loud noise, like, I dunno… CRASH. LuLu gave me an innocent look. My dad had left to take a walk a few minutes ago, so the noise concerned me.
It sounded like a prowler! Yes, a prowler! So I went downstairs rather hesitantly. What I found was alarming. I came back up and messaged Brutus, saying, “Holy shit. I heard a loud noise, and the ceiling’s fallen in over our foyer. I’m not sure it’s safe to be there.”
After sending that message, I left the house to find my dad and intercept him on his walk. I didn’t want him to just walk in the front door and feel demoralized. I told him what had happened, and he said it didn’t sound too serious.
But that did little to soothe me. My spidey senses told me it was a dangerous situation.
We got home and he checked it out. “Eh,” he said. “It’s done falling. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I’m completely confident in my know-it-all ways.”
“No,” I said. “Either you can get your friend Mr. Sullivan over here posthaste, or I’m calling a contractor. This isn’t safe.”
He hemmed and hawed and refused.
But my dad wasn’t too upset, which was good news. Although to be honest, he’s Mr. Mellow at all times.
I came back upstairs. Brutus had messaged me saying, “You should vacate the premises and get a second opinion!” I wrote back and said I’d vacated and was upstairs now, where there’s no indication of danger. (The problem seems limited to the lower level.)
I became more and more stressed out, wishing my dad wasn’t so cavalier in the face of danger. I emailed my aunt to ask if she had any advice for how to get through to him, but she hasn’t written back yet. I then messaged my brother, who gave me the name of a handyman and his number. I was quite grateful and thanked him profusely. He’s a good brother.
My cursory internet research said that falling ceilings aren’t something to mess around with. You might think it’s done falling, but… hello. KABOOM. And there’s a name for it: “spontaneous ceiling collapse”. You can’t make this stuff up.
But without me even having to nag him, my dad did go ahead and call Mr. Sullivan at some later point. I guess my dad started realizing it was a bad situation.
I took some photos and sent them to Brutus to illustrate my day’s experiences. He wrote back and said:
This is all very challenging. First I hear that the roof is caving in and that your dad is totally unconcerned. Now I know that you are crazy, of course, and that your dad is a man of the law — a sage like man of letters and worldly experience. So I’m thinking that maybe I should get his side of the story (bearing in mind that he might be looney too). Then I get photographic evidence supporting the claim so I look sternly at your dad before giving a sarcastic grin to the jury and say …..
“So, Meg’s dad, can you explain where you were on the night of August 28? Walking, you say? Can anyone substantiate this implausible story? No, I thought not. Now, have a careful look at this photograph. Do you recognise the room? Your own house, you say? And do you see depicted in that photograph a situation which any rational man would recognise as the roof falling in? An event that you categorically denied having occurred???”
I think we have him on toast.
And that had me laughing so freakin’ hard, because he’d thought I was overreacting and that my dad was the voice of wisdom here. Um, no. HA HA HA HA! Here are the photos which I’ll present as evidence to the court:
I’m finally feeling a little less tense, but not by much. I went downstairs just now and no one was there. It’s been a long evening. My dad goes out to party at this time of night, but I think he’s back now, and perhaps Mr. Sullivan has already stopped by. I’ll check in and find out. (Have I never mentioned my dad’s partying ways? Yep, every night.)
Until a few minutes ago, I completely forgot that I’m getting a new assignment for flash fiction in under two hours. Oh my gosh. I’m so braindead that there aren’t words for it, but it’s been fun and sort of unexpected, as is my life.
No way will I be writing a first draft before bed tonight. Not a chance in heck. I won’t even brainstorm. I’ll just get the assignment and go straight to bed. Hopefully when I wake up, my house will still be standing.
Ah, my aunt got back to me. That’s nice!!
So there’s been joking and camaraderie and friendship and tragedy and structural collapse. My perfect day! Thank you, God!