Okay, ha ha, very funny.

Whoever it is out there, you can put the voodoo doll away now. Yes, you. Really, it's just not funny anymore.

First, it didn't start too badly. Two weeks ago, I lost the gold ring that James bought me nearly six years ago, but I'm fairly certain it's around here somewhere. Then our food processor lost 2mm off a vital piece of plastic which rendered the whole thing useless. Yes, annoying (I use that thing a lot), but not devastating. Then what was it? Oh yes, the car. Want to argue with a kangaroo at 80km an hour? Sure you'll probably win, but you'll be limping. New bonnet and grill? $1000 thanks. Then the bad one, the really bad one. I feel bad making light of it really. It probably deserves it's own paragraph at least, but here we go. Last sunday, unrelated to the kangaroo incident, James completely ruptured his achilles tendon. Yes, you may wince. It hurt. It still hurts. A lot. I won't even go into the medical saga (that's another blog entry and tempting law suit entirely), but lets just say it took five days to get him operated on, and the recovery period is, well, impressive. Nine months before he can use that foot. Nine months. On crutches. And then it'll need continuing physio and support. So that's the big one, but that's not all, oh no. The morning after we got him home from hospital, after all the stuff that goes along with surgery and hospital stays, and oh yes, a night sharing the bed with Mari, coughing, and struggling to breathe through a cold, I stumbled out to the kitchen to make coffee. Now, our espresso machine has been a little noisy lately, but I was okay with that. It hadn't woken any children or taken off on a spontanious trip to Mars via our kitchen ceiling. But that morning, of all mornings, it made a bigger noise, followed by a pop, a hiss of steam, and a cascade of water out of the front panel. ... "So, your coffee maker died, at least it's under warranty, right?" you might ask. Let me just remind you; this is me, Lorena, you know, me? That stuff running through my veins? It's caffeinated. Permanently. And my only source of decent coffee exploded. Don't get me started on the sequence of events that ruled out the percolator (stale embedded coffee stains), plunger (broken), and god forbid instant (mysteriously tastes like mushrooms).

So now, just as the icing on the cake, along with James in plaster, and Mari with a hacking cough and snot galore, we have Rosa (we can't forget her can we?) with raging gastro. You knew there had to be a kicker didn't you?

So. Not funny. Stop it now, please.

Sincerely,
Lorena