It really goes a long way if you can say “that was my bad.” A lot of people out there can’t do that, or at the very least struggle with it mightily.
That sounds like the beginning of a rant, and it could be…but what made me think of that thought wasn’t nearly enough to work me into a lather, it just made me think about how hard taking responsibility is for a shockingly large number of adults. Often times, it manifests as entitlement.
I worked my ass off today. I’m finally, finally catching back up after the move. A very, veerrryyy slowly, the house is coming unpacked. Pups still think we’re leaving this place we’re visiting every time Liz or I go out the front door, but they’re starting to settle in, too. Coops really enjoys visiting me out in my office. Coco loves sleeping on the bed, since that’s something familiar.
The Warriors play their first playoff game in three years on Saturday, which makes me realize I need to get the TV set up so I can watch it. We’ve started, though, with the kitchen. Naturally. Since we have to fucking eat. Or, I guess that was second after getting the bed set up. Have to have a place to sleep.
Our bedroom is so fucking nice. It’s bigger even then the one we had before. Bigger bathroom. Or, maybe not bigger, but better. Two sinks. Nice big shower. And about the same sized closet. Big sliding door to our patio off the bedroom. Our bed faces it so we get a ton of light. It’s magical. I love sleeping here, too. It’s so quiet.