If You Call This Living... the epic struggle of hope over despair

Last night, as the temperature dropped from a balmy 58 degrees to a brisk 40 degrees, my dear, sweet fiance was doing battle with the gods of overtime and a patch panel the size of Rhode Island. We don't live together because love may build a bridge but it doesn't pay the rent, buy the groceries or balance the checkbook. We're in negotiations with a heinous bathroom in the apartment in his parents house and his surprisingly liberal mother.
Anyway, last night I was at home while my sweetie-pie worked his tailfeather. I live with my parents. They are 2 people who have been married for 40 years but haven't had an actual conversation in 39. It's like living with a very old sheepdog and an extremely nervous cat. They don't quite co-exist, the certainly don't understand each other, and they spend most of their time trying to keep out of the others way. I was knitting a scarf, drinking tea and watching Bridget Jones Diary. All evening I was listening to my parents shuffle around the house, slowly creaking up the stairs, nattering at one another about dinner tomorrow night or toilet paper or whatever.
Just as my reading glasses were slipping down the bridge of my nose, to perch geriatrically on the end, I dropped a stitch of my knitting, my mother asked if I'd seen her Lipitor bottle and Bridget Jones burst into a chorus of 'All By Myself.'
I wept quietly until my finace called to say hello, at which point I cried 'I will pay a million dollars to live in a cardboard box!'
He replied 'Yeah, but the apartment is bigger so let's stick with that.'
Hopefully by the new year I'll be in some new digs with my beloved. Minus the elderly pep squad.

And no, I don't know where her Lipitor bottle is.

Monkey Luv what do you do for a living? You are hysterical! You should write a column

Sorry to hear about the heat

OMG that is the best post I've read!

You are truly a gifted writer.


Sorry it is borne from depair and suffering

What a great read that was

Suffering begets art...

All the great writers were created by adversity...Poe had his depression and consumption. Shakespeare has his poverty and religioin. Ibsen, Joyce, Centrelivre, Behn, Carver, Faulkner... the list goes on.

My suffering? I live with my parents.

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Posted by MonkeyLuv

Suffering begets art...

All the great writers were created by diversity...Poe had his depression and consumption. Shakespeare has his poverty and religioin. Ibsen, Joyce, Centrelivre, Behn, Carver, Faulkner... the list goes on.

My suffering? I live with my parents.

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LMAO.... I was actually thinking 'Hemmingway'

Yet another brilliant Monkey post...

It's difficult to sympathize with your despair because I'm too busy celebrating your genius.

And she knits too!

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Posted by usuk2004

And she knits too!

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That's what I was thinking!!!!

Thonglori might have a job for you!

I'd definitely stay away from Liz with a set of knitting needles in hand ...

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Posted by wc0143

I'd definitely stay away from Liz with a set of knitting needles in hand ...

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Wendy! I'm shocked and appalled! I would never stab someone with my knitting needles. I mean really! Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of wool?

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Posted by MonkeyLuv

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Posted by wc0143

I'd definitely stay away from Liz with a set of knitting needles in hand ...

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Wendy! I'm shocked and appalled! I would never stab someone with my knitting needles. I mean really! Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of wool?

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I thought you were shocked I didn't call you MonkeyLuv ...

So you do know how hard it is to get blood out of wool...

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Posted by MonkeyLuv

Indeed I do... it prevents me from killing many, many people.

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Can you teach me?? I am on the verge!

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Posted by Pookiesangel

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Posted by MonkeyLuv

Indeed I do... it prevents me from killing many, many people.

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Can you teach me?? I am on the verge!

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Well, first you work up a rage that has you frothing at the mouth, then you have to find a weapon, next think about an alibi...oh, wait! You meant you want to learn to knit didn't you!