cranky closet corn

I'm irrationally cranky tonight for reasons relating to the Education Corporation, one of which is entirely my fault and one of which I saw coming MONTHS ago and took every possible step to prevent, knowing all the while that it was like trying to stop a Metro car by planting a daisy in the trackwork.

I'm also cranky because all my shelving and racks in my closet just... fell off the wall. Last Wednesday. My landlord has not yet fixed them and so getting dressed in the morning has developed into something resembling an archaelogical expedition, as all my clothes have spread about every other available surface. Every surface except for Sadie's fur-coated section of the sofa, natch:



I'm also rather rationally cranky because, though he is not in any immediate danger and is getting great care, my dad is not doing well. He's still sick and he's still alone and when I last talked to him he did not sound good. Actually, cranky is not exactly the right word for my response to this. Usually when faced with a problem, even one that does not have a ready answer, I tackle it head-on and start looking for any element of it that I can contribute to resolving. With my dad's illness, I want to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and pretend the rest of the world has stopped existing. Except I can't, because I'd get fired if I stopped going to work and more importantly, that because of that whole closet thing this is what my bed has looked like for a week:



A bunch of us did a Corn Maze in Leesburg on Sunday. This sounded really good on paper, and began promisingly. Perfect weather and wholesome funtime:





However, nothing really quite captures the joy that is the reverse hangover (where you wake up feeling fine and gradually get worse and worse as the day goes on) quite like spending the afternoon getting lost in acres of corn. Especially when I spent the night before enjoying yet another chapter in the ongoing Tribute to Aaron Spelling that has been my recent love life.

Plus, we were the only people at the Maize (hahaha-- get it?!?!?!) who were over 18 and not dragging babies around with us. There were so many children running around the place, I felt really guilty waiting in line for onion rings and saying things like "Fuck, you guys, I'm sweating pure vodka." Not guilty enough to not swear, mind you, but just enough to politely cover my mouth when I burped to better emphasize my point.

But you know what they had that makes me feel better? Better about all the things that made me cranky?

The Corn Cannon.



Two days later and I'm still giggling at The Corn Cannon.