So, Paul2k, Benyenyen and I trekked far into the woods on Saturday, burned a bunch of stuff, ate a phallic meat dinner, and made fun of each other for about twelve hours straight. The Geester’s uncle has a bunch land outside of Ellijay and he was nice enough to let use use it, so we were miles from the next closest human–the way camping should be. No white-hot bits of metal touched anyone’s skin, which is good I guess. I took a bunch of pictures and I will post them as soon as … don’t hold your breath.
I started feeling a little anxious on the drive home yesterday morning. Right now is that time of year when everyone gets manic. The weather gets nice and all of a sudden everyone’s expectations go through the roof. During the winter, when it’s all cold a dreary, it perfectly acceptable to spend the entire weekend in a bourbon haze, watching TV show collections on DVD, and listening to the sound of your own arteries hardening. But as soon as the temperature ticks above 65°F, people on dog walks start pausing in front of your house to point and comment to each other on the various 16-inch high weed clusters and wild flowers growing all over what is supposed to be lawn. And that’s just the part of the house they can see form the outside.
What I’m saying is, Tall Brown and the land it sits on were in disarray and it was starting to stress me out. Plus, even though we didn’t get totally shellacked in the woods, we did manage to stay awake until almost three in the morning and then get up at 7:30am, so I was considerably foggy and uncomfortable.
I got home and allowed my hardwired, nice-weather mania to propel me through the rest of the day. I was filthy enough from camping that, before working in the yard, I took a shower. It felt great. Next, it was off to the Big Orange Debt Factory for some supplies.
(Quick side story: In December ’04, one of the flourescent ballasts in my man hole went bad and I replaced it. Read about it here. Since the new ballast was identical to the old ballast, I put the old, broken ballast in the new ballast box and set it aside to be returned. I even taped the receipt to the front of the box so I would know where it is. I feel no shame whatsoever returning stuff to the Depot. Eff those rich jerks. Well, I just got around to returning the old ballast yesterday. The clerk looked at the 15-month-old, dusty, yellowed receipt and then asked me, “Are you fucking serious,” with her eyeballs. My eyeballs replied, “What, is there a problem?” I got store credit. Score!)
I wanted to begin resurrecting the lawn, which meant I needed to get the composter in shape to start processing this year’s clippings. With my store credit, I acquired some weed ‘n feed, and a large poop fork, which will be officially intriduced to the internet at a later date. With the poop fork, I moved the whole of last year’s compost into a large pile next to the composter. I don’t maintain the compost properly, and it smelled positively horrifying last year. The couple of times I stirred it, it released hot, menacing fumes not unlike boiling cattle diarrhea and swampy, rotting flesh. As such, I was dreading the transfer. Thankfully, the winter seems to have chilled everything out and I now have a cubic yard of crumbly, black composty goodness with no odor whatsoever. Gardening tip: if you don’t have a poop fork with which to maneuver your compost, you are living in the frigging dark ages.
Following the manure maneuver, I tackled the man hole. The winter has caused much mess and disorganization in the man hole, and, in a frantic attempt to assuage some of the depression it is causing me, I spent the bulk of yesterday afternoon kicking the garage square in the neck. The Geester has expressed intrest in using half of the man hole to store one of our vehicles (hers) when not being driven. Interesting concept. I capitalized on this opportunity to put some marriage capital into savings, so, in addition to a unapologetic ethnic cleansing of all the clutter, making room for the Maxima was one of the planned outcomes. I cranked up a mix tape that B, Heglund made for me in 1996 and went absolutely barking mad. Breaking glass, hurting feelings, hasty reorganization, gnashing teeth, moderate blood loss, clouds of smoke, cultural generalizations, using the leaf blower indoors, and lots of recycling ensued. There’s a small mountain range headed to goodwill next Saturday, and a two story tower of cardboard at the curb for recycling today. The Maxima can fit into the garage, and I have finally … FINALLY finished processing all of the boxes of stuff that we moved into the garage when we bought the house two and half years ago.
I slept very well last night.