Today's post is about a crowbar. And a 28-year-old grudge.
You might notice that this crowbar looks quite new. In fact, I bought it today. It has not yet participated in any crowbar events, novice or pro. Sounds pretty uninteresting, right?
But, I have been mad about our old crowbar for 28 years. We used to have one. One just like this. It mysteriously went missing at a time when a whole lot of our things got shaken and stirred, so there is no one person to blame for its disappearance. It just happened.
However, for some reason, the loss of that crowbar has continued to infuriate me. I know, I get hot and bothered about odd things. I have refused to buy a new one because it had to be around somewhere, right? How does something with such an awkward shape and heft simply go missing?
In fact, I have refused to even look at one in the store. Instead I've used hammers, a short pry bar, whatever I could find. And I've made do.
But, to continue the demolition of the well pit cover, I really need a long crowbar. So, I bought one today. Guess how much it cost me to get past the anger over the old crowbar. $11.98. Seriously. I've been mad for over a quarter of a century about an item that cost only $11.98 to replace?
Get a grip, Joan.
Of course, you know this means I'll probably find the old one within a week or so. If that happens, believe me, you'll hear about it.
In other news: work was long. I am tired. I'm going back to work soon anyway. Tried to write this evening, but didn't accomplish much except some tweaks to Chapters 1 and 2 of The Hitchhiker.
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