running after the farmer’s wife

BAG
BAG
GGGG
AAAA
BAG

Remember back to third or fourth grade and the teacher handing out recorders? They did at my school anyway, and one of the first things I learned was three blind mice. I couldn’t play it today, but it was fun then. Playing the recorder that is. I believe I’ve mentioned this before, but mice… not fun. Finding them in the boxes, as I finally got to take things from the garage at my folks… not the best way to start my moving experience. They were not blind and there were waaay more than three. I had no nursery rhyme in my moving experience. Whoever wrote that had something wrong. I’m super thankful the bfff was holding the box that live ones went scurrying from or I think I may have passed out. Just thinking about it is gross. Then unpacking and finding their little poops everywhere and things chewed on, still not havin fun. Who knew they would take stuff from one box and put it in another??/ I did not. That is until I found about 3 pounds of lentils (wha?? huh??) in a box of my books and writing supplies. I guess my mom had a box of lentils by the fridge (as I had no need to store vast quantities of dried foodstuffs in her garage for several months.. the apocalypse isn’t going to hit me at her place). Whatever, that was rather interesting. I found smaller quantities here and there, but three pounds. One box. Oh and then there was the nest. Apparently my box full of pots and pans that were all individually wrapped was exactly what misses meeces wanted to birth her thousands of babies. Can we say throwing things away?? How about sterilization? Still, all things considered, I’m only grossed out, not complaining. (that will come later with two words- yellow paint). However, as I have no psycho landlady to fung up my shue… maybe the little meeces aren’t so bad. They weren’t in the house, they were just in my stuff before it got to the house. That’s not as bad… right? We moved the boxes several times before actually bringing them in so I’m callin it good. Whatever, I’m gonna stop thinking about it now, before I get the willies.

BAG
BAG
GGGG
AAAA
BAG
(damn song stuck in my head now!!!)

Instead I am thinking about the coziness that is my little place. It is tucked into some trees, heated by wood burning stove, has an amazing view of one of the peaks that defines the landscape of my county, lets me listen to the sport bikes wizzing by at a distance, is completely out of compliance with any building code in existence and its right next to a family cemetery that is several hundred years old. As an aside…I’ve come to find out that at some point in time so person at the Big Uni decided it should be on the list of things to see when you’re a freshmen and groups show up out there. It’s been scavenged and messed with quite a few times. Okay… (yes, here it comes, ranting, ranting) This is someone’s final resting place. The place where their bod returns to the earth and whatever you think happens next… well yeah, that. Regardless of your religion… you just don’t go fuckin with people’s graves. That’s like asking for bad karma to come smack you in the face with a cast iron frying pan. Seriously?!? I think checking out old cemeteries is cool, rubbings and photos (if there is good energy, which there is here) and I am good with the cemetery being right there. I’m not afraid of ghosts (well these at least – I know the family that owns the cemetary and like them very much, plus feel protective of their family’s burial grounds… I think I’m good) but I don’t want any bad energy hangin around my otherwise peaceful happy place. So if I see it… smack down in a big frickin way. I have a big stick or something and I will use it. Anyhow… that being said, there is tons of potential to make it a really cool spot to hang out. Plus all the clover (think lush carpet o’…) makes it the official St Patty’s kick off place. (I’ll be taking that day off… and the next. Yeah.) In the mean time I need to work on organizing stuff and finish unpacking. I also need to clean up the vomit from the closet that threw up all over the place. I don’t know if it had a bad night out or what, but it could have tried to confine the cloths to one area… but no such luck. Who knew there would be a moment where I would not be happy to see my collection of shoes? Right now I’d love them to walk themselves up the ladder and into the closet. Maybe happy ghosts can arrange something for me.