The best (and saddest ) thing? Awesome Boyfriend Paul points out that next week is a 3 day weekend, and as I worked this Saturday, I have next Saturday off, and thus have the full 3 day weekend off. And he will come over and help me Do Stuff that needs doing for house selling.
And I'm really happy about this, rather than being resentful that I'm not spending a 3 day weekend doing something that involves lots of driving and spending sizable sums of money. I ask my Neigh-bear, currently planting heirloom roses, if he's spending the 3 day weekend similarly. Of course he is. (Note: if my limited observations of my neigh-bear are any indication, the homosexual conspiracy that pundits used to warn about consists solely of creating beautiful gardens and shaming the neighbors into trying to keep pace. I'm not saying this is a BAD conspiracy, I'm just saying I think I've uncovered it.)
So as I'm removing moss from the roof, edging the sidewalk, and delighting in my new GrassHog, I realize: I've become your dad. Not my dad, because my dad spent the weekends with a cocktail, the hi-fi, and the new issue of Esquire. But I'm certainly SOMEONE'S dad.
Other evidence that I am your dad:
I reserved 4 days of vacation time in June four months ago to attend an event, but it sold out before I got tickets and thus I'm not going. But I'm still taking the time off to do painting, cleaning, packing and dump runs. I have a 5 day weekend, and I'll be scrubbing my bathroom. yay.
I guess I'll feel better about all this after the house is sold and I use my Freakin' Huge Profits to do something decadent. That is, if we aren't in a recession and I get my asking price of One Gazillion Dollars (adjusted for inflation and librarian expectations). I'd hate to think I'm engaging in all this dandelion and moss genocide for nuthin'.