So, as far as I'm concerned, April's not even a contender. For a while I had my money on February-- not only has New Year's cheer given way to a dismal unending winter grey, but that smirking bastard Saint Valentine is there to make us all feel bad. However, there's also something to be said for September. It's an unwelcome switch from comfortable T-shirt and shorts weather to cold enough that walking home's irritating. For those who are students, or whose career aligns with the schedule of students, school rears its ugly head. And to begin this particular September, I found that my piano had gone AWOL.

    Naturally, this raises a few questions. Who steals a piano? How do they steal it? Why do they steal it? And perhaps most importantly for me, where do they steal it to? Someone suggested the possibility that it was simply moved for convenience, but given that numerous other large blocks of useless furniture remain in the mill basement, when I scoured the entire floor for my piano and found not a single ivory key, I can't help but shave with Occam's Razor, which says (or cuts to the chase, if you refuse to anthropomorphize) that someone has stolen my piano.

    The fellow who said I could leave the piano in the basement after buying it told me that these things happen all the time at tag sales. Someone buys something, someone else doesn't see the tag or deliberately ignores it and also buys it and walks off with it, and the first person is SOL. Well I'm used to being OL, but I have plenty of S to deal with already without this.

    Those who believe in karmic justice for those who have generally pleasant lives and complain may take pleasure in the fact that last month, I was complaining that I had acquired a piano and wasn't sure where I'd put it. That problem has now been solved for me by the disappearance of my piano.

    Meanwhile, the fly having left of its own accord, the spider remains. I had the house inspected today, for which I showed up and was told that the inspector needed a check up front and didn't send a bill, but I'd forgot my checkbook so ran to the bank for a cashier's check. Sadly, they won't make them out without knowing the exact amount, so I ran back to the inspector to find out the charge, and then ran back to the bank to get the check, and back to the inspector to pay him, where by "ran", I mean "made my real estate agent drive me because she had driven me to the inspection and had a van". I figure she's earning a nice percentage, so no guilt.

    Anyway, the inspection happened, and apparently there are severe issues with plumbing and electricity that will cost thousands more if I acquire the house, but nothing the guy's willing to fix up front. However, the inspection did reveal a very comforting fact about the house: Nobody has stolen it.

    Yet.