Trudging along in The Big, Blue House, year one.

He’s still sleeping on the couch, so I plundered the kitchen and made a cheeseburger. Got some trash bags, and fresh bowls for the cats. The cats have feeding stations all over the house, so I can fill their upstairs bowls and they’ll be fine. I also emptied the dishwasher, because I always do, and even when he’s being awful the house still has to function. He’ll take out the trash and cut the grass. For him everything is fine.

I’m guessing one of his parents was like this, so it’s ingrained in him.

For me, I’m making myself as comfortable as I can on the second and third floors. While he’s asleep, I may clean the basement. - And just as I’m typing this, the doorbell rang, which will wake him up. So, so much for cleaning the basement. Amazon delivering the dishwashing powder he bought yesterday, most likely.

It’s my doorbell. I bought enough receivers to cover the whole house, one on every floor and on the front porch, (it’s enclosed); set to a semi-spooky pipe organ melody.

There are still two other doorbells that came with the house, one which rings on its own at odd hours late at night or early in the morning, (presumably from temperature changes?), and one that’s really old, that is just a round button that goes to a set of chimes in the kitchen. It makes the classic “bing bong”.

So I guess now I’m going to take a nap, then try to figure out where to put my easel.

Man, this is depressing.