So the kitchen is pretty much done. New counter, cabinet, sink, everything cleaned, painted, spackled, and re-cluttered. So now I can take it easy for a while, right?
"I want you to put new closet doors up in your office and in the little hallway by the bathroom. Oh, and don't forget to put that new light fixture up in that hallway too. And remember, I want the living room painted even though you just painted it a year ago."
It's not just the work that I don't want to do, because I don't, it's the expense of doing all these things that I object to. I would love to put all new stuff into this house. New doors, new windows, and new, new stuff all around. But I can't. My account is down to just the scraps at the bottom of the bank's vault. I've tried to sit Mark down and explain the workings of our household budget, but his eyes just glaze over and he tells me to raise the tenant's rent. I've tried charts, spread sheets, and dog toys to illustrate things.
"Now here is what we have coming in. Ten squeaky toys a month. And here is what we spend, Ten squeaky toys and this little pile of stuffing that Chandler has ripped out of squeaky toy eleven. As you can see, if we keep going this way Chandler will have to tear apart another squeaky toy... which he doesn't have."
Mark just doesn't realize what it takes to run this place. It's like I am a circus performer, the plate spinner, and I have ten plates spinning on the end of skinny little poles. If I let one spin down too slowly everything starts to unravel. I'm sure Mark will understand that analogy, except he'll swap out plate spinner for a clown.