Lindsay and I think that Oscar is battling depression. He has cry marks on his eyes, he's been moping around a lot and he's been acting even naughtier than normal since we started ripping up the carpet in our house.

You see, Oscar is a major league homebody. And now he thinks we're moving. Obviously, he does not want to move again.

Hee. We try to explain it for him, "Buddy, we're just moving shit around so that we can get nice new carpet. We're not moving!" but that doesn't seem to work. I'm starting to wonder whether or not he really understands English. You know, except for the phrase "are you hungry". The dog thinks about food all day every day. On weekends, he side-lays in the middle of the kitchen floor from 4pm til 6pm, when we feed the dogs their dinner.

At any rate, Friday night, when we're putting things back where they belong, he'll be back to normal, I bet. Ah, we're not moving afterall. Guys, this is great! Then again, we'll be dismantling and moving other rooms Friday night. Maybe Saturday night, he'll be back to normal. This is great, guys! Maybe he'll never be back to normal. He was never normal in the first place, so I suppose that's fitting.

It's so cute that he loves his home so much, though...

Carpet progress? Yep. There's some. The dining room and living room and stairs have been completely emptied out and all the carpet and all pad have been pulled up. I should have put pad in quotes, cause, really, it was mostly dust. Allergy allert! It mostly made me watery and sneezy, too. I'm pretty sure I'll live. Don't cry for me, Argentina.

You know what I'm thinking right now? I'm thinking about how I won that flashcard contest in 2nd grade. You know what else I'm thinking? My overriding thought lately? Prepping an entire house for new carpet is a motherfucker! A motherfucker!

To do tonight: prep the bedroom of the future. Which means, not only will we be putting in more work, we won't have our king sized sleep number bed to sleep on. Eek! To the guest bed, everyone! Or the couch! Or something. Man. We're screwed if the guest bed doesn't work out. Or even if it does. Tossing and turning and cramped into an iddy biddy queen sized bed... Should be a good time. I expect to be a sore little motherfucker tomorrow.

That's all I've got for now. Exciting shit!
Eric