suspect.

At times I think that perhaps we have purchased a money pit. Friday night I flashed back to that movie. (Tom Hanks and Shelley Long. Man I loved it. You so did too.) Home from a much needed night out, and our garage door crashed to the ground.

It didn't hit anything. But the ground.

Saturday morning we learned that our garage door does not stay up on its own without a working door opener. And I became the early morning opener as Clin drove away to rehearsal. And that door is heav.vy.

Clin slow poked it to the car. And I yelled. Yeah. Unheard of from me. But you would have too. With both hands above my head.

Leave. Get in the car and go. I'm about to vomit.

I should have. I should have let it all out. To help emphasize the weight of that 6:30 AM weekend door.

So I returned to bed to think upon the pit. And noticed a cold. And quiet. As in no heat.

Which launched me from bed to find what I feared. Thermostat blank.

Money pit confirmed.