It’s been a day

I woke up to puppy yarf on the comforter and in the bedroom floor. The comforter doesn’t fit in the washer, so I had to clean it by hand outside. 

I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.

Then I saw the storm cellar was open and I knew I was facing the seventh circle of hell. Several months ago,  I mentioned to Sunshine that he needed to have someone go down there and get the crates of rotting onions out of there. Do you think he did it?

Fuck no, he didn’t do it.

So I had to start dealing with it. I was in such a rush to get that crate of rot out that I banged my head on the roof of the fucking storm cellar. I sill have a headache, and it’s keeping me angry about this colossal failure to follow directions and I’m planning my revenge on Sunshine as I type. It’s probably going to involve something expensive.

I digress…

The off gassing from the rotting onions had caused the potatoes to rot.

Nothing smells worse than rotting potatoes. Nothing.

I used a face mask and some mentholated rub and still almost yarfed from the stench. It got worse, though. 

I almost came undone when I realized what the sound was that I was hearing. I could hear the fucking maggots writhing in their piles after I removed the crates from the storm cellar. It was a horrifically squishy, wet sound and I cannot unhear it. That sound will give me nightmares, and I’ll probably have PTSD from it to add to my tornado PTSD and my wildfire PTSD.

When Mr B and Sunshine pulled up in the yard as I was working, I promptly went and apologized to Mr B or whoever was the unlucky soul that discovered that hell and left the storm cellar open.

Mr B, being the gracious individual he is, actually went down in the storm cellar with a water hose and shop vac and cleaned out what I hadn’t gotten to yet. Biff (AKA Goldilocks) helped lift crates out too.

Once that ordeal in the seventh circle of hell was over, I thought my day had gotten as bad as it could get. I showered and went to town to get my truck registered.

My first mistake was thinking.

When I returned home and walked into my magic bus, I spotted a bloody mess in my living room floor. Apparently, Mollie found someone’s fresh kill and brought its guts inside and dropped them in the floor. She then proceed to track the blood all over the living room. 

I spared you the actual picture of the guts, because it was actually a grayish brown glob of gross. I didn’t even get a picture of the bloody little Mollie prints because I was to busy rage cleaning.

I’m probably going to go order myself some shoes or something to make me feel better after such a horrible day.

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I don’t math well

I recently ordered some coat hangers via the Internet.  Screaming pink velvet flocked slimline hangers. 50 shirt hangers, and 50 hangers I could drape pants over. I got excited about having a real closet again. One with lots of light, bright colors in it. 

Obviously,  I didn’t think that one through very well. 50 + 50 = 100, right?

Somehow, I neglected to factor that equation into my decision making process. I failed to consider what the fuck I’m as even going to do with 100 screaming pink velvet flocked slimline hangers. I don’t have hanging space for that many fucking clothes in this RV. I don’t have anywhere to stash 100 hangers in this RV. 

I did go ahead and swap out my current black, grey, and cream colored velvet flocked slimline hangers. I used just over half of the shirt hangers and just under half of the ones to drape pants over. Now I had giant piles of unused screaming pink velvet flocked slimline hangers AND a mismatched pile of black, grey, and cream velvet flocked slimline hangers to deal with.

I gathered all of the matching black shirt and pants hangers and made sure all of Sunshine’s clothing was all on matched hangers and saved the rest of them for when he has more hanging space. The mismatched black, grey, and cream hangers are in my truck waiting for me to take them to the charity shops as a donation. 

I have stashed the matching pink hangers at Indian the matching black hangers in the driver’s seat of the magic bus. Next time I get ready to order some shit, y’all make me do the maths first,  please?

How did I get here?

Have you ever watched those HGTV and/or DIY shows where a couple builds or remodels a house? I’m not talking about any one show in particular; because ultimately they’re interchangeable.  Boy meets girl; they plan a house; she (or he, depending on which one is the bigger asshole control freak) starts nitpicking and changing things, causing change orders, overages, and delays.

While often entertaining to watch, those nitpickers are a nightmare for the general contractor and all the subcontractors/skilled tradespersons. Sunshine has dealt with many of those nitpickers in his career as a Mason, and he’s figured out the best way to deal with the nitpicking change order junkies is to repeatedly demonstrate that there are consequences to all the changes and nitpicking: every time the nitpickers come at him with a change or addition, a change order form gets filled out and a 25% deposit is required on the spot. Generally, it works.

Side note: sunshine HATES those HGTV and DIY shows. He says they’ve spoiled homeowners  to the point where they expect their contractor/tradesperson to hold their hand, present them with a set number of options, and explain the pros and cons of each option. He is not amused.

Tuesday,  I did a walk-through, looking over the progress that had been made while I was traveling. Overall, I was impressed at first glance. The blue glass has been set into the wall between the bathroom and bedroom, the exterior walls are almost finished…it’s starting to look like something.

Then I started walking through rooms, and ended in the bathroom. Which is where shit started to go awry. Sunshine had made the shower too narrow, and I wasn’t having it. I moved the wall. Which totally negated all the special work he had commissioned for the bathroom window frame. I feel bad; however, now is absolutely the right time to be widening the shower–before waterproofing membrane and tile are installed and fixtures are in place.

I added a cabinet/shelf in the bathroom,  a tiny broom closet between the studs of the wall, an in-wall fold-down ironing board, and a pot filler over the stove.

Of course, most of that changed again as I walked through the house with the electrical engineer. So did a lot of my lighting choices, because I got talked into ceiling fans.

Side note: I do NOT want ceiling fans. I can’t find any ceiling fan lighting kits that I like, and can only find ceiling fans that I can sort-of tolerate. I’ve also nixed some of my light fixtures because of the additional pieces pieces-parts that I don’t want to have to figure out how to hide.

I’m sitting here this morning, wondering how in the hell I got here. How in the hell did I become the nitpicker who changes everything every time she walks through the building with a tradesperson? I don’t like me right now, yet I refuse to compromise on some of this shit because I have to live with it for the rest of my life. Hopefully, I don’t drive Sunshine too crazy before it’s all over.

Final note: they have already nicknamed me “change order”

Waiting game

Some time ago, when the garden was in full swing, producing lots of food, Mr B asked when he would be able to plow it all under so he could level the area to prevent standing water. I told him that December & January  would be perfect,  since nothing would be growing, producing, or planted during that time.

Side note: we’re ignoring the fact that the garden only held water because Mr B extended the distance between rows and therefore had to extend the length of the rows which led to the garden covering a low spot that held water which means that now Mr B is having to solve a problem that he created that isn’t going to be a problem in the future since the garden won’t be extending through that low spot anymore… when you’re a carpenter with a hammer, all problems look like nails to you. Mr B is a Tasmanian devil with a fleet of tractors so all problems look like dirt that needs to be moved. I digress…

By the end of July, the entire garden full of plants that were producing food had been destroyed so he could move dirt. He then made some rows and commenced working on something else. 

So here I sit today, staring at rows made by Mr B that he says need to be tilled.

I’m not sure why I need all these tilled rows, since we are doing are significant portion of this fall garden with the four sisters. The four sisters (corn, squash, beans, and Rocky Mountain bee flower) get planted in mounds that are 2′ in diameter and 18″ tall.

It’s like he can’t stand NOT micro-managing every aspect of all the things. All. The. Things. It would be endearing if it didn’t cause so much chaos. It would be cute if it didn’t mean that projects that he doesn’t prioritize get left undone. It would be funny if it weren’t so frustrating. I digress.

Ultimately,  I wind up in a place where Sunshine is actually ready and willing to help me with gardening,  and we’re on hold because a carpenter with a hammer sees only nails.

Final note: this afternoon,  my garden is being planted, whether Mr B has moved to dirt he thinks need to be moved or hasn’t gotten to it.

It’s Monday

It’s Monday, which is normally my Saturday.

I know, it makes no sense.

I normally work on Fridays and Sundays, which makes Friday my Monday and Sunday my Friday, and Mondays are usually my Saturdays. However, I worked every day this past weekend, and I’m working this morning. I don’t know what day it is supposed to be for me.

I’m tired. I slept the sleep of the dead last night, and I’m still tired this morning.

I’m supposed to be learning to can jam today or tomorrow, and I don’t know if I have it in me. I have too many other things on the list, and I only have so many spoons. I am going to have to prioritize, which is easier said than done. I need to flash freeze some backdoor fruit, but I have no room in the freezers. If I made jam out of the blackberries, I’d have room in the freezer. I have a garden that I need to walk through and harvest what’s ready, but I have no room in my fridge because there’s too much backdoor fruit and squash from the neighbors in there. Even if I did have the spoons, I don’t know where I would even start.

side note: making jam would be the obvious choice. It would free up a lot of freezer space and get these cases of canning jars out of my way inside my house. Then I could flash freeze all this shit in my fridge. After that I could harvest stuff from my garden, at which point I’d have to start the cycle all over again.

I’m starting to talk in circles, aren’t I?

Let’s start a new circle, shall we?

Household chores. Thank heaven I cleaned this place within an inch of its life last week. It means I can hit the high spots this week and pray that next weekend doesn’t turn out like this past one so that I can get some rest and be ready for my own life next week instead of having to be the only adult at the produce stand. Laundry is so backed up it’s scary, and I actually managed to get a load done over the course of the last three days. Now I just have to fold it before I head to work this morning. Sunshine just brought me over a gallon of hydrogen peroxide leftovers that he bought for a job cleaning some mildew stains off of some very light colored stone columns; I’m not sure what the fuck I’m going to do with that shit but I am sure that we shouldn’t have to buy peroxide for the next millennium.

I’ve got to squeeze in an appointment with my primary soon, too. I still haven’t gotten a call from the mental health provider to get me started there, so I’m relying on my primary to keep me in meds until I can get in at mental health.

I’m completely ignoring the elephant in the middle of our house build site. I just can’t think about that today. I’ll worry about that tomorrow; after all, tomorrow is another day.

Three Hours

Somewhere along the way, Sunshine and Mr B got it into their heads that the goal for us all was to have a three hour workday.

As nice as it sounds, I don’t know that it’s a very attainable goal. There’s no way I could consider myself having a three hour workday, even if we took all the hours I worked in the last year and divided it by 365 (and this isn’t even taking into consideration the hours I worked at an actual job in the last year).

Today alone, I have:

  • spent two hours picking blackberries
  • spent around an hour in the garden harvesting squash and turnips
  • spent another hour and a half (and still counting) blanching and freezing squash
  • spent a bit of time freezing blackberries

Still on the agenda for today:

  • go back and help Sunshine and Biff pick the other half of the blackberry patch
  • clean up the mess I made blanching and freezing
  • finish freezing blackberries and squash
  • water the garden and the compost heap
  • empty the compost bucket into the compost heap
  • help cook dinner
  • and whatever else Sunshine comes up with to do

Now, during the winter (late December through early February), there might be some days that are delightfully idle, but I don’t know that they’ll make up for the activity packed days that go on from late February through almost Christmas.

I don’t know where Sunshine gets his ideas, but I think I’d rather not smoke whatever he was smoking when he came up with that three hour workday shit, because that’s just delusional.

final note: what’s the difference between illusions and delusions? Illusions are the ways I try to fool you. Delusions are the ways I try to fool myself.