Center for the Farts
I took Summer’s car to work today so she could keep mine in town. Casey’s had a free Reign Storm (ha), so I picked one up on the way to work and just accepted that I’d squeeze in a little bit late. It was more or less pretty quiet, with just a small group of kids doing some makeup testing in our office, followed by the usual lunch shenanigans. I was pretty scattered again, so it was a lot of meaningless accomplishments and nothing of any consequence was fixed.
Summer went home early with a headache, and got some new messages about reduced power and acceleration in my car, so we’ll tow it to Tulsa for a replacement high voltage battery. I guess I should be happy to rewind a year of degradation, but it doesn’t make me feel really great about the longevity of my car. I noticed Summer had a little dent in the back of hers when I got back home, apparently from trying to open the trunk while the garage door was shut. I almost made the same mistake once, so I couldn’t be too mad at her.
I fed the fish and picked up some tacos to take home for us. Then we went to the high school for Eaddie’s Christmas concert. Autumn spotted us as soon as we walked in and came over to our seats to talk at us. It was super awkward, and I imagined it was a little bit like how she still hangs out around the high school where others can’t just walk away from her.
The concert band was pretty bad, but it wasn’t until the symphonic band played that I realized how spoiled I was from listening to Eaddie’s elective concerts. It really is the difference between a group of really passionate, or at least dedicated musicians, and a public school band. There’s simply no comparison.
Eaddie went out with friends afterward, so Summer and I came home so she could go to bed. I was up a while, in part to try and get the old refrigerator running. I’m afraid the compressor may have finally bit the dust, which is frustrating to have happened after we finally got it situated in the laundry room. Oh well.
It’s obviously the product of favoritism, and not at all hard work.