Wednesday evening, Thursday, and Friday morning have been bitterly cold, in the minus temps, with 45 mph wind gusts. Wednesday evening after work, the pickup truck got stuck on our road, I got out with groceries, started walking, slipped and fell, couldn't get my feet back under me, panicked, laid there a while with the cold winds howling telling myself to relax, Mike still at work (won't be along for another two hours), I finally got up and made it up the slick road to home.
Appalachian State University was closed on Thursday.
The propane truck can't get up here and we're down to 15lbs (scary).
We always have water in the barn's feed room but the RV water tank froze but thawed now.
I haven't bathed since Monday.
All the animals are well, thanks to Mike not me.
Mike does a LOT of hard labor here.
Without Mike, I would either be living in an apt, in an assisted-living facility, be dead, or be homeless on the streets.
Mike and I order me a salad to go from the Come Back Shack drive thru, Mike is driving, I put the salad and dressing on the truck floorboard at my feet so they will be safe and on to WalMart be go. As usual (or how I remember it), Mike lets me out in the front of WalMart and goes on to park the truck.
I'm fresh off the psych ward pumped and up on psych meds which makes this story that much more amusing. (The mental stress is about my workplace and me being ostracized for being an oddball, nothing about my home life).
At WalMart, we gather a cart load of stuff, check out, and I now realize that I forgot to get something. Mike says he will take the groceries to the truck, pull up front, while I make the next purchase. I come out, open the door to get in, I see the salad dressing but no salad. "Where is my salad?" Traffic is now being blocked at the entrance of WalMart because this old, fat couple are searching all around their beaten up old pick up truck, hay falling everywhere, arguing about a missing salad.
In a huff, I told Mike to drive back to the parking space, the one that I had never been to since he dropped me off at the front door and picked me up at the front door.
There was my salad, on the right side of the parking space, it had been run over, with fresh tire marks and everything!
We're traveling home, I'm constantly ribbing him over the salad and keep asking,
"why were you on the passenger side anyway, what were he doing? were you looking in the glove box?" "was the death of the salad an accident?"
He kept denying that he been over there. All of a sudden it hit him, "I DIDN'T LET YOU OUT AT THE FRONT ENTRANCE, BECAUSE WE CAME IN THE OTHER WAY FROM COME BACK SHACK, I PARKED THE TRUCK, AND WE WALKED IN TO WALMART TOGETHER.
Oh shit, I had kicked the salad out of the truck. We laughed until I could barely breathe.
In the western movie, I'm the washed up old sheriff laying face
down in the dust in the middle of a town called AppalCART. I'm bloody, with ribs
broken, feeling defeated and I'm hoping GOD will just let me die. Maybe a team of horses will come along, ride over me, and put me out of my misery. Seems like days go by. No team of horses. I think I'm still alive. Yes, I'm alive because I'm coughing up dirt.
Passersby have been ordered by corrupt Mayor Turner to remain at a distance. Every once in a while folks holler, "you should quit" or "you should go get another job. For some reason, those words get my remaining blood boiling.
Why should I be the one to crawl off in disgrace? I'm trying to uphold law and order. I'm trying to make wrong, right. Yes, I'm constantly being beaten down by Mayor Turner and his thugs. As the AppalCART Town Council continues to uphold the status quo, I clearly see (through all the dust in my eyes) they all are afraid to be laying lay face down in the dirt. Their white collars will get dirty. They may have to answer some hard questions on why they didn't run "corrupt" out of town sooner.
I realize that I'm the bravest person that I know. I don't "go along" if it means going in the wrong direction.
I just spent a stint at Catawba Valley Medical Center on the psych ward. I have dibilitating clinical depression and have endured 30 years of chronic workplace stress on top of that.
The psych-ward experience was interesting. No shoes, just socks with tread that were issued by the hospital. No cellphones. One TV in the dayroom. No cabinet doors, no knobs. No strings, no cords.
Just like in the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, we'd step up to the nurse's window and get our cup of pills and and cup of water, and the nurse had to watch and make sure we swallowed all our pills.
I'll keep adding to this, my brain can barely connect two dots anymore and I move in slow motion.
In the NC Appalachian Mtns, NW NC. A full-blown nester although I have to earn a living away from home. We live on 30 acres, can't see any neighbors. I like to hang out with my critters - a few chickens, 10 turkeys, quite a few Pearl & Pied Guineas, 30 Nigerian Dwarf Dairy goats, a pair of rowdy Irish Terriers, Brawn and Bliss, a pair of Great Pyrenees livestock-guardian dogs, JackBadger and BarbaraJean. Mike and I are Life Masters at Bridge.
email = email@example.com