In my last post I mentioned how Mercury Retrograde was zapping my life with some doozies -- a future layoff notice, an eviction notice for the roomies, and whatever other insignificant glitchy mundane thing that was happening that I didn't mention, but now things have turned once again in a direction of what can only be called the road to more upheaval. Along with that eviction notice we received a notice of intent to inspect the premises, so we spent a few hours spiffing up the place, washing and waxing the wood floors, dusting, exchanging bedding (mostly making the beds for a change) and generally stressing out whether the place would pass inspection by the property manager, a woman who was once described by my son as 'the lady who swoops in on her broom and steals the ruby slippers'. She certainly lived up to her reputation when she arrived for the inspection with a real estate agent in tow. Yep, folks, the abode wasn't being inspected to make sure I'm a good housekeeper, the inspection was scheduled to appraise it for SALE! Kind of makes me feel like I wasted my time prettily presenting this lovely house. The owner, a gentleman who now resides in the Bay Area is 'desperate for money', as the former property manager (the current manager's son) told me one balmy fall evening while picking up rent, and his solution to his financial difficulties is to render homeless (I know, I'm being dramatic) four families, five if you count the cave dwellers. But we were given some small ray of light in the comment, "It's okay, you don't have to move out yet." Yet. Geez. I hope it isn't going to be for some time because I would really, really like to enjoy the peace and quiet this house will hold once the cave dwellers, and specifically Mrs. Dweller, are out of the house -- at this moment she is in the basement screaming at her two-year-old, and if there's one thing that sets my teeth on edge, it's screaming. I cannot abide screaming, or stomping, or slamming doors, or heavy mouth breathing. Snoring I can handle. Not putting the toilet seat down, not so bad. Leaving a pile of dishes for me to wash is irritating, but manageable. Screaming? Huh-uh. You'll get a Ninja slap up the side of your head if you think you're going to scream in anger around me. It's just a reflex.
This weekend's agenda goes thusly: Pick up beloved youngest son from the train station to spend the weekend with his old mum, engage youngest son in the exercise of perfume balm manufacture, eat a lot of green things, go to a friend's yard sale, start formulation on the latest Natural Perfume Academy ambit (an all natural re-imagining of a vintage classic perfume), finally decide where that pound of frankincense resin will be utilized, in a hydrosol or a new batch of incense?