Monday, January 02, 2006

Christie and I rung in the New Year sitting on the upstairs bed, me watching Serenity, and her reading a new book. She looked up during the not-scary bits and to laugh at Jayne, and I peeked over her shoulder when I thought I could get away with it. At midnight, I heard the crackle and boom of fireworks, and saw occasional flashes in the sky to the west of us, where someone was staging a fairly impressive little fireworks display. Well, it was impressive if it was just folks putting it on. If it was an official thing, it was actually kind of lame. So here's hoping it was amateurs.

Why were Christie and I sleeping upstairs? Drying paint and floor tile adhesive. Christie and I's closet suffered from the same design problems as our pantry, in that it was painted a pinkish sort of beige, and had these nasty brown particle board shelves, some of which were broken and dangling at a most distressing angle. In the end, it became necessary to destroy the closet in order to save it. The original project specs called for the carpeting to remain, but that didn't work out so well.

Half a day for shopping. Half a day for demo, painting, and floor prep. All day Sunday to lay the floor and hang the new closet fixtures. Today, alas, I have to work, so Christie's done the bulk of the putting away and organizing, while I'm off keeping the world safe from bad data. She is indeed a good woman, and it's entirely possible that I don't deserve her. If that turns out to be the case, though, please don't tell her.

As far as New Year's goes, well, yeah, that happened this weekend, too, but what is there really to celebrate in an infinitely small space between two arbitrary slices of time? Everything. What is there to celebrate in that particular space between two slices of time that doesn't also abide in every other moment of our lives? Nothing.

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