Life is just life... sometimes ya roll with it. (Patreon)

So, my Brandy is getting old.  She's my rescue shepherd-lab mix, and she's either ten or eleven, we aren't exactly sure.  But she's my baby, white muzzle and all.  And when I found a slightly damp, slightly smelly spot on the living room floor near the back wall, ya'll know exactly what I was thinking... yes?  I didn't fuss over it.  I hate people who yell and carry on when a dog makes a mistake because of age.  They can't help getting older.  When my mother was recovering from cancer, there was more than one day that her adult diaper failed, and I haven't traded in my mother. 

Anyway, I decided to keep Brandy in my bedroom with me to minimize how much guests might be subjected to that smell, because you know it never quite comes out of the carpet.  Much to my surprise, I woke up to another wet spot in the living room.  It's not the dog.  I've turned the swamp cooler on, and the evaporation is running down the roof.  The leaking roof.  Yep, I have a roof leak.  Insurance will only repair the one small spot where the wood has rotted, but all three roofing companies said they would not put their guys on the roof without stripping off three layers of shingles.  

I can see their point because the guys can't actually spot any weak spots right now and I don't want a worker falling through my roof any more than they want to fall.  So I get it.  HOWEVER.  Stripping off three layers of singles (the bottom one the roofers are estimating at 40-50 years old), repairing the wood and then reshingling = (drum roll please) $11,800.

Headdesk.

I am okay. I have some money set aside for the new roof I knew I would have to get eventually, a credit card with a low balance, and I'll get a large check in late May (I have my nine month contract spread out over 12 months because I don't trust myself to save up enough during the school year). So I won't have to carry much on credit long-term.  But still.  BUT STILL. 

Okay, whine over.  Others have it much worse, and with Mom getting another cancer-free check up (WHOOT WHOOT), I am still blessed.  However, when do I reach the age where I'm not racing to the bank with the paycheck to avoid having a logjam of bills?  I'm ready for that age.