Oil and Water.

This is a post in honor of the whopping $4 drop in barrels of black blood of the earth. For the record, I'm against any and all milkshake-drinking schemes.

I think I've said I love my house. It is the only house I have, after all, and i'll never have another. Part of the reason I know I'll never be able to actually take care of another human is because I can't even do what's right for this house, and the house only needs to be kept spiffy, it's not like I gotta educate my house--god help us all if the house ever realizes it could be so much more. It'd be worse than listening to me locked in a room with raw meat. Many sleepless mornings coupled with the episode of Cold Case involving that kid who just wanted to see Jurassic Park with his stuffed bunny have given me something other than myself to blame, however. That's right, all that makes me sad about my house is not my fault, it's the damn dinosaurs. Never liked those vicious bastards. I never did like Land of the Lost, either. What were those Sleestaks about? Hmph.

Here is a rather dismal list of things I've realized over the years:

Because of the oil bill we can't change to gas.

Because of the oil bill the oil company puts off cleaning the furnace.

Because of the oil bill our driveway gate still tilts and won't close.

Because of the oil bill we can't have the cherry tree looked at.

Because of the oil bill we haven't gotten new windows to keep the heat in.

Because of the oil bill the roofer won't come to see why it rains in the kitchen.

Because of the oil bill I can't look forward to the colder seasons I love.

Here's to a mild winter. I'd have wished for a mild hurricane season too, but it doesn't look like that'll be happening, so now all I can hope is that everyone down south stays safe and dry.

--I'm not saying putting one's head through a window is any way to greet visitors, but my dog Pookie totally had the right idea barking at the oil truck.

Oil and Water.