Hey everybody, it's time for another Friday Brain Scramble! I'm indecisive and ferhuuddled and easily distracted. Like, I can't even remember what I planned to write here - that's how confused I get.
Anyways.
My week has been mostly involved in my Great Corral Renovation Project. I will write a whole big series of posts about the topic, but for now I'll sum it up like this: Two weeks ago I had a 100' by 60' patch of sticky clay mud and deep s*** which became a hill of runny yucky stuff in the pasture field and then turned into a rectangle with some uneven gravel in it. Now instead of sinking up to the pasterns in the yuck, the horses are tiptoeing across the rough stone, but not often, because I've been keeping them out of it. I don't want to shovel manure off the gravel. Are you kidding me? Why not try to dig a hole in a box full of packing peanuts? NO. The Project isn't done yet. It will involve a few more tractor jobs. Have I ever mention that I really like tractors?
Also my week has been full of lethargy and apathy. It's like the ambition part of my brain just does not care. Somehow I've been getting things done, but it takes a lot of catching up after that two hour nap before noon. Hey gimme a break! I wake up at 5:30 or 6 every morning to go take care of critters and young people! I need that nap!
Speaking of which: I grind my teeth when I sleep and I'm not happy about it. I got some little mouth guards, thinking I'd like to keep what's left of my tooth enamel. If I put them in upside down I've got a Bubba Gum. Be the capn of a shrimpin boat. Tiger shrimp. Buttefly shrimp. Cajun shrimp. When I take the thing out in the morning the little ridged plates that sat between my molars are all mangled and malformed and damaged.
I don't know where I was going with that. Just thought I'd share. You're welcome.
I hope nobody phones me. I'm having phone phobia. I hate when that happens.
Unrelated note: This weekend we'll be going to an auction sale... I have such incredibly mixed feelings about these events but I cannot stay away!!! I'm insane too. Wanna know why? I mean, shy specifically? It's because I'll be there to see what stuff sells for instead of buying anything.
It's one of these auctions:
WE'RE GONNASELL EVERYTHING ONTHEWAGON and then we're gonna SELL THE WAGON.
Only tomorrow it'll also be:
WE'RE GONNA SELL EVERYTHINGON THE FARM and then we're gonna SELL THE FARM.
We don't have 20 G to put in the auctioneer's hand tomorrow.
I'd really like to buy a hay wagon.
Plus there's a nice John Deere 1120 with a loader bucket. I could really use that. You know how I like tractors.
So we're basically going to an auction to torture ourselves and watch stuff we like/ could use get bought by other people. And I'm telling you, if that little 6 acre farm sells for a low price I WILL CRY. Yeah I'm not kidding. Cry. Even though it isn't the perfect place for us, it's really cute and I could love that quirky little old farmhouse. And the small hip roof barn. And the crick. The place has a crick.
Anyways.
What?
2 comments:
Well it sold really cheap. Like I could not believe how cheap it went. But. I did not cry. We toured the place and even though I figured my big man would feel uncomfortable in a house of such small proportion... He had to turn sideways to get down the stairs. So yeah. NOT the place for us.
But the story doesn't end there...
More later.
I bet you have the perfect farm place all lined up, house, barn and pastures with a green JD parked beside a GMC pickup, head to tail. It has a clear deep well with full water pressure. Not to mention a crushed coral riding ring. AND a perfectly equipped work shop on the back, right next to a recording studio.
I bet it exist in all its virtual glory, every detail of it etched in your mind.
Good for you, ADHD girl. Sometimes dreaming is almost as good as having it.
What the heck does "ferhuuddled" mean? It's not listed in my dictionary, but I want to use it in my next novel.
And I still can't find my way home...la di da.
I only say that because I spend as much time on your site as on mine.
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