by MustBTVDay thirteen of furlough. I woke at 0600, which feels less like waking up and more like clocking in for a job that doesn’t currently exist. Breakfast was leftover donuts — the taste of victory, defiance, and poor impulse control — paired with the daily Starbucks coffee, because at this point caffeine isn’t a choice, it’s infrastructure.
Today’s operational agenda:
- Investigate why the lawn wasn’t cut Friday.
- Follow up on the truck, supposedly finished today.
- Conduct dual return missions — Amazon and Lowe’s.
The lawn mystery seems to have an explanation. The crew apparently transitioned to an every-other-week schedule for “winter maintenance.” The problem? Winter hasn’t arrived in Texas yet. It’s still pushing 80-plus degrees every day. The grass didn’t get that memo, and Remington has taken full advantage, treating the overgrowth like her personal jungle gym. I may need to reclassify the backyard as a wildlife refuge until further notice.
As for the truck, the shop claims it’s ready. I’ll believe it when I see it — and hear it — and don’t smell anything burning. The Family CFO has approved the recovery operation but maintains her right to issue an “I told you so” directive if anything wobbles, squeaks, or makes a noise outside of the standard mechanical hymn.
The Amazon and Lowe’s return missions proceed later today. The former will be quick; the latter is a potential ambush. Lowe’s is a dangerous place for the easily distracted — the smell of lumber alone has cost me hundreds of dollars over the years. The CFO has set a spending perimeter and armed me with one directive: “No new tools.” I’m going in under supervision.
Mittens and Tabby remain disinterested in the day’s activities, observing the chaos from their respective command posts — one windowsill and one warm laundry pile. Curly and Moe continue their silent standoff, though I caught Moe blinking at me in a tone I didn’t appreciate.
Morale check: stable. Coffee strong, donuts depleted, and operational tempo high. The Living Room Republic marches on — one errand, one receipt, and one uncut lawn at a time.
