I had such high hopes for this week...

Justin comes home on Friday from Kabul (yay! squee! yipee!) and I had high hopes for the days leading up to his arrival.

  • Finish my revision
  • Read the scrumptious books I got from the library
  • Have dinner with some writerly friends
  • Maybe splurge a little and buy a sweater (on sale!) from Anthro

Alas. Our basement flooded. Between Hurricane Irene and the massive rainstorms in DC, our carpet became a big soggy mess. I tried to use beach towels and a wet/dry vacuum but it was a lost cause. I realized I'd have to move all of the furniture and buy new flooring.

Which, all in all, isn't such a bad thing. There were people who lost their homes in the hurricane and even their lives. A flooded basement? That's nothing!

But my stress level inevitably rose between Justin's homecoming and my neverending revision and doing all of the little things that pile up like dust bunnies and make you sneeze. Yep! I plopped down on my staircase, tucked my chin onto my knee, and let myself have a little pity party.

(Feel bad for me? Please donate to my Paypal cupcake account!)

The pity party lasted well into this evening, while I grunted and shoved and pushed my furniture this way and that. (Oh dear. Remind me to check under the sofa more often. The things you find under there!) Then, I had to clear off my bookshelves so I could move them too. So I grabbed armfuls of books and trucked them into the bedroom and...

I stopped. I looked down.
My books.
Matilda. From the Mixed-Up Files. Maniac Magee. I'd had them since I was a little girl, back when I had pigtails and wobbly teeth and dreams of becoming a writer.

They were all dry. Perfectly so. The storm hadn't touched them.

When I went back to collect more books, I let my fingers run over their bone-dry covers. Persepolis. The Things They Carried. Plain Kate. And then I found the most prized books of all, the ones I bought during my study abroad in London. Despite their weight, I had hauled them in my suitcase and flew them over the Atlantic because I knew they would be a forever memento of my trip.

They were dry too. They were safe.

So, um, yeah. Perspective! It's still a nuisance to have soggy carpets and a house smelling of mildew, but I'm lucky. For my books. For my house. For a husband coming home from Afghanistan. For all that and so many more wonderful things in my very blessed, sometimes crazy life.

You know, maybe this week won't be so bad, after all.