aarrgghh . . .

about a week ago, kidlet waltzed out the front door and the alarm system lost its cool.  since the panel has been looking like and old movie marquee with half of its lights blown, the alarm company sent a guy out on new years eve day.  he fixed the sensor issue and changed out some old batteries for me.  yay.

that night in the wee hours, i could hear and intermittent beep and knew it was the system going wonky again but managed to turn over and go back to sleep.  in the morning, the read-out on the key pad was rolling through all the numbers to each individual sensor and some i didn't even have.  i really didn't think anything about it until i went to arm it last night around 6:00.  it wouldn't arm.

so i called the company and they walked me through powering down the system since it had lost almost all if its power.  the problem is, the pad is in the laundry room but the box with the guts is in the attic behind my bedroom.

call #1:  the girl walks me through taking out the battery and my phone dies.  i am not a fan of that attic space.  it is unfinished and covered in mouse droppings.  ok, we don't have mice, but it feels like we do.  and the floor of the attic is two feet lower than the bedroom floor.  don't ask.  just let me out.

call #2:  i am still using the house phone and quickly realize it is going to cut off again since the system is tied into the phone line.

call #3:  this time from my cell since i am finally catching on and am apparently a slow learner.  the guy wants me to tell him the read-out on the key pad.  i run downstairs.  now he wants me back up in the attic.  i run upstairs. i reconnect the battery and he wants me back downstairs.  huff.  puff. i am barefoot and covered in mouse poop (see note above.)  he wants me back upstairs and tells me to unplug the box from the power cord.  there is no plug to the box.  'yes, there is,' he yells.  no there isn't i cry and then i explain to him every freaking wire coming from the box.  there is no plug to the box.  he says, there is and it must be in the bedroom, in an outlet and will be the size of my fist.  i tell him i have lived here for twenty years.  it ain't so.  he gives up and tells me to disconnect wire number one.  there are only 7,952 wires in the box.  i ask him, 'how do i tell'.  he says, it is labeled number 1. OK, i have on the wrong glasses for standing in a hole two feet below an average height box with a single swinging light bulb.  grrrr.  i get it disconnected.  he wants me back downstairs to see what the keypad says.  nada.  he wants me to run back upstairs and reconnect the wire.  i try to do that and it arcs at me.  i am not happy.  he says, "be happy."  again, i am in a darkly lit mouse poop infested hole in the wall attic trying to connect a wire that obviously hates me.  it works and the system comes back up.  yay.  i go to bed.

at 2:55 i wake up and can't get back to sleep for an hour.  finally, sound asleep, the alarm goes off at five something o'clock in the morning.  i go back downstairs and turn it off and it is channelling though the numbers again.  no call from the alarm company.  hum . . . they always call.

call #4:  me: my alarm system is shot and no one called.  nice lady: because it showed as maintenance and not a break-in.  me: how am i supposed to know the difference.  earliest appointment is july 12, 2035 between 12 and 5.  i pull the little old widow lady routine and she sends off emails to her bosses for an early appointment.  p.s.  my unit is hardwired in, there is no plug says the nice lady with a giggle.  

i crawl back into bed for a bit.  finally i get dressed to walk and it is raining.  i give up!!!

why am i telling you this story?  because is makes this, all the better:

and it will be.  i love the power of positive thinking.  it works.  the temperature has finally dropped, i am sitting in front of a roaring fire sipping iced tea, having had a really nice lunch with my hens.  

life is good, damn it.  enjoy it.