I haven’t written about the Little House of Horrors lately mostly because her constant needs and wants suck everything out of me.
Vampiric-like, the Little House of Horrors is slowly, inexorably, draining me of everything I might call happiness or life or even a simple justification of existence.
Building a house is a marathon- it’s not for the faint of heart, nor is it for the happy-go-luckys that think something like this might be FUN. It ain’t. It’s grueling. And it’s at it’s gruelingnest right now. It’s still in the pre-close-in stage, everything’s still rough as a cob, and it seems like the Little House of Horrors will ultimately resist being built and laugh heartily and long when I collapse, spent and unfinished.
So I don’t write about her and try not to think about her too much hoping that maybe, just maybe, by ignoring the Little House of Horrors, she’ll somehow relent.
But hey, at least the electric’s done.
And, yeah, I can’t wait for the phallic jokes. GO.