I’ve said it before, but it seems to always resurface: it’s funny who remains in your life. It’s never the ones you would think.Take, for instance, John Alan. I would have bet you a dollar to a doughnut that I would have stayed friends with his ex wife much longer than I would have him. That’s just how life works, right? The other example, and what was proven again this morning, was some of my customers for whom I still serve as go-to. One called me just after eight, for his neighbor, who is having issues with destructive beavers. I couldn’t help him, but I was able to refer him to TWRA. The other customer I’m referring to is Wayne Loveday. Allow me to tell you the history. So, first of all, I’m talking about “little Wayne”, the schoolteacher, not my former chairman. Since I attended Seymour, and our FFA chapter wasn’t very active, I didn’t know who he was when I went to work at Co-op. He’d come tromping through in his faded Carhartt coveralls, faded to fawn, with the insulation puffing out from barbed wire tears in the duck fabric. They’d also be splattered in cow excrement and mud. This was before Muck brand boots, we all just had those rubber ones that came halfway up your shin and kept your…

It’s interesting how you can get through pretty much anything. You think you can’t, but you can. And I’ve always said, when people remark on my strength, “What choice did I have?” Suicide just isn’t an option. Suicide is for cowards, in my estimation. Nobody is coming to bail me out. I have a few friends that I could ask for money, and I know my aunt would help me out if it came right down to it, but I guess I have too much pride. I was raised by my Grandmother, and she certainly never backed down. I won’t either. I will only be strung along for so long, and I won’t be abused in any form or fashion. I refuse to be labeled an option, and there is no way I will stay interested in someone who isn’t madly in love with me. Why do women want to stay saddled to a man who doesn’t care for them? It makes no sense. How do I get through the hard times? Well, for the most part, if it’s something I don’t HAVE to think about, I don’t think about it. This is not delusion. Not thinking about problems doesn’t make them go away, but if it’s something that doesn’t necessarily require immediate action, I’m better off trying…

I woke up later than expected, but not late by anybody’s standards (7 am). I’m glad I rest just as good at Kevin’s as I do at home. Probably more so, since I don’t have Chester to worry about. Oh, Chester! I sure did hope he was doing ok, and not cold. Surely he’d be fine. He has plenty of fur. Lord knows I vacuum up enough to make a quilt every week. I could hear Kevin puttering around, and I definitely smelled coffee. I dashed off my morning thankfuls to Emily before ever getting out of bed. I had a feeling it would be game on as soon as I showed my face. But I was wrong. We had a slower start than yesterday, probably because we were tired. And really, it was Sunday, so we shouldn’t break a sweat anyway. I’d had to go cool off on the porch a couple of times the night before. But we must carry on and get this village knocked out, so all he’d like was above the china cabinet and oh yeah, all the lights and greenery outside. But that’s what Russell and his dad were for, amirite? Especially since it had been determined Russell had merely sprung some muscle in his arm in the accident yesterday, not dislocated it, as he had thought. But I know all about those injuries that you…

Few things make me feel more obsolete and ignorant than navigating Kevin’s smart home. From trying to find a light switch to turning on the TV to setting an oven timer, it’s all via an app on your phone or telling Alexa your intentions. It’s handy, but it’s also infuriating. And now I had a new machine to learn the ins and outs of: the dang coffeepot. It’s as necessary as the toilet. Why does it always have to be so complicated? Why does he have to be so techy and fancy? He showed me again, patiently, how to work the complex coffeemaker. He had biscuits in the oven, although I had expressly forbade him to fix any kind of breakfast. I’d even brought my own bacon. But does he listen?? Nooooo. He also scrambled me eggs. With cheese.I must admit, it’s hard to find anything wrong with a man fixing me breakfast. And here it had happened twice in a week! Two different men, with no favors expected! 🤣🤣🤣I settled at the bar, picking at the plastic price tags on his new placemats while he chattered on like a monkey in a tree about his new role at work and the recent flight to Honduras in the corporate jet. He found pictures online of it (because he was too cool to snap any when boarding). He said he prefers to sit in the restroom area…

I talked to two farmers today who were having good days. One had just shot a coyote.“Well, that’s good!” I cheered.“But there were two more with him,” he amended. “Oh. Well, maybe you got the patriarch and they’ll leave.” The other farmer said, “I got up this morning and my cows weren’t out, and that’s always a good thing.”I didn’t disagree. I have to tell myself to live in the moment. Pretend I’m a dog or something. If you had told me 20 years ago that I’d be working for the government in a job I loved and driving a Maxima, I would probably think I had a pretty great life. Especially if you’d told me I was on a four hour road trip, alone, to see my friend in Kentucky. But the truth of the matter is, I couldn’t go where I really wanted to go (Ireland) with who I really wanted to go with. I no longer speak to my best friend. My favorite person in the world is no longer in my life. And my coworker is disgusting.Life hurts.But, I’m in pretty good health, I have lots of friends who care very much about me, I have my own home and a precious 80# dog.So, you take what you got and grin and…

It’s not that I have nothing to write about (which I don’t) but it’s that I really just don’t want to. Like, no part of me has any desire to write a word. So I won’t. For now. I wanna go crawl in a hole and eat ice cream and not talk to anybody. Finally working on this a week and a half later: Today was a taxing, aggravating day at work. Thankfully these are few and far between, but when they do come around, it’s almost like the aggravation is amplified because it’s so out of character. Addison wanted me to gather up all the folders needing signatures. We’ve got a QAR in January and he’s crossing his t’s and dotting his i’s. {I felt like those should be capitalized to look right, but when I did, it wasn’t illustrated as clearly, so that’s why they’re in lowercase, although I’m unhappy with the appearance and I don’t know which is correct and I’m not going to bother googling because this is my blog and I can do as I wish). Anyway, I stopped pulling folders when I got to 20, thoroughly disgusted and baffled. The rain wasn’t helping a thing, either. Although I should be grateful my job is inside with my own personal heater (thank you, Charlie…

Today, I am filled with a sense of rightness I haven’t possessed in some time. I’m afraid to move too fast, I don’t want to disrupt this balance. I’ve been busy, is that it? The printer, which was not scheduled until next Tuesday, made it’s appearance today. I wasn’t surprised, in actuality, but rather, was glad to be getting it over with, even if I was in the middle of breakfast. The guy delivering it was congenial and easy going, which is always a blessing. He actually accepted the proffered bottle of water, which is so unusual I was momentarily stunned. What was funny was I went to sign for it, and he said he delivered one to Bowling Green not long ago. He got it all placed and plugged in and offered the sig pad to the guy working. Dude backed up and was like, “I’m not signing for that,” all wide-eyed. Truck driver was like, “Oh yeah you are,” and he says, “I’m not authorized” and delivery dude was like, “Well, I’ve gotta load it back up, then,” and the NRCS guy was like, “Oh hold on here, you can’t do that!” and the driver was like, “Hide and watch, buckaroo.” So long story short, the “unauthorized” employee signed and they got to…

As Fish said, the Tuesday that feels like Monday. I hope I don’t miss something important this week, since I’m already running a day behind. I’m also two days behind on the blog. Maybe I can get that remedied, at least. (Um. It’s the following Wednesday when I’ve come back to this and I am SOOOOOO behind)(Now it’s the 23rd and I’m so desperate I’ve resorted to my home laptop which I almost never use). I hate when I’m dreading doing something, but it has to be done, so I do it, and doing it makes me feel even worse. Life would be an easier pill to swallow if we weren’t conditioned to have hope in the face of all adversity. If we could just say, “Listen, this is gonna suck, but it has to be done. So don’t go telling yourself that it’ll be ok. ‘Cause it won’t. The best you can hope for is getting put out of your misery quickly. A ripping of the proverbial Bandaid.” But noooo. In order to get ourselves through whatever it is, we lie to ourselves: “Oh, it won’t be as bad as you think.” {Yes, it will}. “They might tell you this or that.” {No, they won’t}. “You might get a cookie…

Veteran’s Day. In years past, I’ve elaborated at length about my appreciation to those who have served. I should again today, but there are more pressing concerns in my midst, and I don’t have anything new to say, so simply: Thank you for your service, no matter your reasons. I had promised JA to accompany him to Powell to look at a bus. Let me stop myself right there. Not a bus, as in a school bus. More like a tour bus. I don’t know why this set doesn’t call them a motorhome, but I understand that the correct terminology is either “coach” or “bus”. Perhaps this is to differentiate from the Class A and Class B rating in an effort to sound a little more recognizable. My friend from college, her parents kept one, and they called theirs the same thing: “the bus”. They are anything BUT a bus, they’re a house on wheels. And the ones I’ve spent time in are not like a mobile home, they have high quality cabinetry and solid (often heated) floors. Most people don’t have a clue when you say “bus” what you’re actually talking about.So it turned out the bus wasn’t in Powell; it was in Maynardville. No big deal, I was just along for the ride. But the best part was, he…