Can't blog, working

My house is a factory. The dining room table is completely covered in electronics, soldering irons and tools. The lounge room is a forest of boxes*. The rest of the house is showing the signs of intense neglect. The children are wondering why they feel like they are missing us, despite us having rarely left the house.

That which is being built must all be shipped within the next few days. Some of it must go tomorrow. Crash follows it all on Thursday. He will be away for just shy of two weeks.

And today I got my period 2 days early. Just in case I wasn't being irrational enough already. I suppose at least that means the (extra) irrational is over.

This should keep food on the table for a while, so it is all worth it. We have a list of things that will be done differently next time. (Don't we always!) But I am actually looking forward to having evenings alone when I can clean this place. It won't happen, and I'll miss him when he's gone, but that's the kind of madness living in a factory induces.

*Wow, I hadn't thought of that book in 20 years.