gah.

I. am. so. tired. I woke up this morning, sat up and asked Mr. Bump, "Do you feel like you've been run over by a Mack truck?" He nodded yes, too tired to elaborate. The inventory of my pain goes like this: head, eyes, neck, shoulder, upper arms, forearms, wrist of right hand, right hand in general curled into the gripping shape of how you would hold a paint roller, back, quads, calves, feet.

This weekend involved painting. Lots and lots of painting. We were up at Bumpalot (our new cabin for those of you who haven't been reading along) and boy did it need a whole lotta paint. The kitchen, family room and library all needed a coat of primer before they can be painted, so that was put on but not a lot else. The kitchen needed to be primed and painted behind where the appliances are going to go, and that got done along with all the walls in the kitchen being painted. The edges of the ceiling and around the light fixtures got painted in every room (thanks P). I spent the lion's share of two days in bedrooms, first painting ceilings and then finally walls. With a few minor exceptions that need to be taped off before painting, the bedrooms are painted. Except not the closets, which I don't even want to think about right now. But we can safely install all of the beds in the bedrooms next weekend and (YAY) sleep in our own cabin. The color we picked for the walls was called "Inviting Ivory," but I gotta tell you, it was wasn't ivory. It was, however, a creamy yellow, which went well with the hardwood floors, better than we imagined it would. It is beginning to feel like ours.

I have heard that some Native American tribes burn sage as a means of cleansing. The modern American version of that must be slapping on of oil based primer and latex paint, which is a heady but clean smell. It smells of a searing purge. Sure, the bath tubs and the shower aren't clean, the floors need another (the 3rd) vaccuum and mop, and the stairs down to the garage, well they just need the hose run down them, I'm afraid they're that bad. But all in all, it smells clean. It smells like a fresh new start.

vote for yourself

new view?

or old view?

You be the judge.

(Mr. Bump says the second one is more artistic, the first just practical. He wants you not to be swayed by the presentation, but focus on the content. Whatever. It is just that pretty. Those of you who have been there know that.)

old business, new business

As an update: I did talk to my old boss about NOT taking my old job back, and she was genial and understanding and has promised an evening at her new house to chat and drink wine in the backyard. But then, she was always big on promises so I'm not holding my breath.

In other news: last weekend we had (ostensibly) our last weekend at the cabin Mr. Bump has been going to his whole life. The cabin his mother and father built with his father's parents. For a variety of reasons that I won't go into, we've found and are scheduled to purchase a house (cabin, whatever) one valley over from the Bump cabin. We've been searching for a new name and scouring home stores for such essentials as ice cream scoops, sheets, towels, heated mattress pads (these are the Colorado mountains, after all), and lots and lots of paint. We have two hot contenders (one thanks to K & C): Bumpalot, and MoHo (short for Mountain Home). We'll see what sticks. We are looking forward to the future. We have a new view, which isn't as nice as the old one but is beautiful nonetheless. We have old furniture that will settle in like old friends in new surroundings, and new appliances so we won't have to scrub out old yucky ones. We have so very much to do.

Other old business: We just passed (last week, the 9th, Wednesday) one year since a car turned left in front of Mr. Bump and fractured vertebrae, crushed a cheekbone, chipped teeth and basically left him a frightening mess with a wickedly bloody eye (the white turned all red--really creepy but didn't stay until Halloween). We are glad he has healed as much as he has. We hope that his back will continue to heal and that someday he will be able to completely feel the left side of his face. He looks like nothing ever happened to him. I just wish nothing had. But I'm also grateful nothing worse did.

New business: We have ordered a new stove and are sending our current stove off to the country for a nice rest. It will reside in Bumpalot, with its friend that was previously retired from active service, range hood. It will get lots of rest there, and we plan to visit it on weekends. Our new stove has 5 (yes 5!) burners, at varying btus, including a simmer burner and a mother-hot burner (all sealed, unlike our old stove). We can't wait to watch it boil water.

I know, just when you thought I was getting interesting, I have to go and show my true dork colors. Ah well. At least I have my stove to keep me warm.

haven't i been down this dead end before?

I got offered my old job back yesterday. On a purely "Hah!" kind of level, it is gratifying to know that things just haven't been the same without me. On another level, to know that despite my leaving they would still want me back makes me feel really good.

However, the terms of me returning were shaky at best. A minimal bonus instead of a raise. And another week of vacation, but not as vacation time per se, but rather as a "raise" that would offset the extra week of unpaid vacation that I would want to take. It wouldn't be something that would be guaranteed to increase with years of service. And there's no guarantee that my old boss wouldn't change her mind in a couple of years and decide that she didn't want to do that anymore. Any freeze in a raise pattern would effectively devalue that "vacation raise." And I would have to deal with any resentment this "arrangement" might raise amongst the other staff members.

That aside, the job is the same. It still has the same old crap, and all the things I hated about it still exist. And it still is a dead end cul-de-sac. There are no opportunities for advancement. No opportunities to try new things.

And Mr. Bump doesn't work across the street from my old job.

And yet...I considered it. I seriously considered it, combing over all of what it would entail in extraction from my current job. The pluses were that I would always have someone to have lunch with. (Of course, I do now with Mr. Bump.) And it is a fun working environment. And I know the job backward and forward and I wouldn't have the obscene learning curve that I have with my current job. It would be so easy to go back there, fall back into old patterns, from my morning stop at Einstein's on Mondays for a large Cinnamon Hazelnut coffee to sharing Ranier cherries with my boss when they start showing up in the produce aisle in the summer.

I can hear you all screaming right now (NO! Don't open that door! There's a monster on the other side! It has an axe for a hand and it wants your blood!) at the computer screen. I know what you're thinking. It would be taking a step backward. Less vacation time, less money, no chance of ever working for the judicial system again, more stress, the tearful drives home. And then there is the sick time. The pot of gold that just keeps filling up, 4 hours every 2 weeks, forever and ever without end. God forbid Mr. Bump would get hit by another car, or I were to, ahem, decide to have a baby, I would need that sick time. And lucky me, if I don't go back to my old job, I would have it.

Going back there would help my old boss desperately (apparently the person they hired to replace me just isn't working on many, many levels), but I don't think in her asking that she thought beyond what she wanted, what she needed. What's best for me isn't that job. And as much as I like her and I miss my old co-workers, I know that to be true to the bone.

So now that I finally have that worked out, all I have to do is call her and tell her. Whee.

friday night in

This is the first weekend since, oh, May that we haven't been out of town. And so, tonight Mr. Bump and I will curl up in our cool basement, eat homemade pizza and watch our DVR and sigh loudly. I will probably burp and wear pajamas, too. (Mr. Bump not being the pajama-fan I am, he will probably just wear shorts--not boxer shorts, short-shorts.)

We have a party to go to tomorrow, and some house-cleanin' that must be done, but other than that we plan to have an at-home vacation. Go to the farmer's market. I think we may grind/make our own sausage. Tonight we plan to grind our own hamburger, something we have done before. You know, mellow stuff. Relaxing stuff.

What, you don't endeavor to make your own sausage or grind your own burgers? C'mon.

And people say we're wasting our lives by not having children.

Ok, not anyone we KNOW, but it is the general vibe in the world. At least some parts of it. Please. Sausage, people. It can, and should, be done. Mmmm.

P.S. Anyone know where we can get some fat back?

this one is for the ladies over D

Have you ever noticed, ladies, that your bra seems to give up on its assigned job as the day wears on? Here it is 3:00 and the girls have a better view of the floor than they did at 8:00 this morning.

Dammit.