My personal hell would be having to spend eternity in the Science Center. It’s loud and full of flashing lights and scary open floors and staircases. But we went anyway, in an effort to wear the nephew out. You cannot, though, actually wear him out.
I was there about 15 minutes before my head was pounding.
Tomorrow I have a “to do” list for the family. Here’s what it includes:
1. Get electricity to the well house.
2. Then see if we have water around the yard.
3. Purchase mushroom compost.
4. Till garden.
5. Aid the older lilac.
6. Get other end of clothesline up.
7, Get lawnmower working.
8. Clean bathroom.
And, damn it, getting the fucking garden tilled better happen.
I read Jim Cooper’s law review article on electrical co-ops and I’d like to find a few minutes to write something up about it, too.
But we’ll see how it all goes.
Through. We’re just going through things.
In better news, Lauren linked to our discussion of the pro-(some)life attitudes in this state, so now everyone in the feminist blogosphere knows what a douchenozzle Representative Vince Dean is.
And, do y’all remember that hacked up dead thing that I took pictures of at the corner of my house? Well, it has leaves now and appears to be an azalea. I took pictures. I’ll have to remember to post them.
I am worried that I am losing my mind as a defense mechanism when dealing with my family. The Butcher and I had a fight about the ping pong balls my nephew found in the desk. The Butcher distinctly remembers receiving them for Christmas from Dad, in his stocking. I distinctly remember receiving them from Exador after telling him about my dream to learn how to shoot ping pong balls out my cooter. And yet, since we were having the argument in front of my parents, I could not explain how I knew the ping pong balls were mine.
But now I’m worried that maybe I made the whole thing up and this memory that I have that is so vivid is just a lie my brain has told me for no reason.
Whew, that’s depressing.
Anyway, things continue. I eagerly await my return to this blog in something other than a whacked-out stooper.