49 hours and countng...

(lmbo... when I typed that title, I accidentally-I hope- left out the "o". Well, if it was a verb, I'm sure I'd do it, occasionally, at least.)
And, yes, I have been awake for 49 hours so far. I'm not trying to do this, it's just happening. No biggie, but sometimes it suuure does get interesting.

Let's see how much of this I can keep straight...

Got up at 2/2:30am, Saturday. Cleaned more of the house. Did more farting around than actual cleaning. Can't remember right now if I cooked dinner or just had Eric finish up the gaspetti from.... whenever the hell I made it a coupla days ago.
I do know I stayed up all night Saturday night... after all day SaturDAY. (Night!!! S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT!!! Lord, help me, I do NOT need the Bay City Rollers for an earworm at this moment in my life. Please, make it stop. Thank you.) Up all night, yes. Sun came up, Eric slept in. His day off, ya see. I continued 3 parts fartin' around and 1 part cleaning.

Long about 2/3:00pm, my friend Rob stops by with his second daughter. He brought his oldest over last time. He and Eric went out to get the horses outta the field and when they brought Action up, it looked like he'd gotten caught in a piece of fence or something. Did a real number on his leg. Coupla nice gashes, dried blood... the whole nine.

Sooo, we rinsed (and rinsed and rinsed) it, applied Blue Kote and sulpha powder (after a fashion) and Eric put him in the barn. I walked the field looking for the mechanism of injury (old EMT training coming to the fore...) and as I was down along the edge of the pond, I happened to look up at this little barn-thing that's in the field, next to the fence, under a tree. The horses stand there alot in the shade. The entire back of it was pushed out, ripped up and curled like a court-jester's shoe. AND, it's made of tin, basically. The stupid (insanely huge) pig, whom I call Harley for a reason, decided that walking out the damned door was too much trouble, apparently, and just busted out the back wall and went about his business.

Either during or shortly after this happenstance, Action decided to get involved and seemingly tried to amputate his own leg. If that really was his goal for some unGodly reason, he did a poor job of it. If he was merely trying to scare us half to death, he succeeded beyond expectation in that endeavor. Dipshit.

Eric went out and "looked" at him around 9:30 or so tonight. Came back in and said he may need to call the Doc tomorrow for him because his leg was "this big!" and he'd not put weight on it and he wasn't eating his hay. Well, it was Bill's (excuse for) hay as opposed to that Brougham grass or however ya spell it that they both looooove.

So, since I'm still awaaaaake *sob*, I just went out and checked on him my own self. His leg is a bit swollen, true, but that's to be expected with almost any "trauma" to any limb on nearly any creature. He'd not only finished the (crap) hay he had, he ate two carrots with alacrity and began to munch the new pile of hay I gave him. Not only that, but he literally STOOD on that hind leg alone for a second, long enough to stomp at a fly with his other foot, so, I stand by my gut/intuition's prediction that he will be absolutely fine at the end of this.

I told him this was his karma for beating the shit out of Storm those coupla times. He MUST have done it. Storm was coming up with scrapes and little gashes and he started to lose a little weight, didn't wanna eat his hay if Action was at the rack, so we made the one huuuuge stall into two and ta-DAH, that solved that problem. So, Action's hurting himself can be called karma and hopefully not be repeated ever again.

Ya think?
I can hope.

So, after all that and while his daughter was off riding Storm, Rob got to witness our "musical trucks" routine that we go through whenever George (and the car) are gone and we need to get someplace. First we have to locate Rick or someone, then a servicable (read: barely legal) truck. As he's observing this, he makes an offer to sell one of us a truck he has for such a decent price, I dare not say it, for fear of jinxing it, ya know?

It's exactly what George has been looking for, so, when he buys that and I get my license back, there WILL be a car available to me so I can get a job with any hours, any days (or nights) I want. Yay and Thank You Lord, again.

Now, whether it's gonna be MY Firebird (the white one with the T-tops) with an entirely different engine in it, or the blue Firebird's engine, or it's own engine rebuilt (more or less) is still up in the air, but it IS gonna be the white one I wind up with. The way I left it with George is this:

I'll call Rob tomorrow and ask him to keep his eye out for another 2.8 or whatever the hell it is under those hoods and if HE can find one that HE trusts (he's a mechanic and has been for years), I'll trust it and that can go in my white Bird. (Daaamn. Not that don't sound quite right, do it?) *scratching head*

Aaanyway, if Rob can find one that'll fit, I'll use that. If not, then the one in the blue Bird comes outta that one and goes in mine. This is mainly because I'm anal retentive, according to George. George, according to me and told to his face, can Bite Me.

Here's the deal. I got my white Bird in Sept. 2001. This is gonna be ENGINE #3!!!! going in there this time and I do NOT wanna hafta go thru this shit again in another year, soooo, I either want an engine that Rob approves or one that I'm already used to and know the past history of, like the one in the blue Bird.

All George wants to do with the blue Bird is paint and sell it, so let whomever buys it have the mystery motor, ya know what I'm sayin'? A "mystery motor", for those of y'all wondering, is one that either, a. Jon, the Liar Guy finds (and Christ Himself has no idea WHAT that'd turn out to be/do or cost) or b. a "junkyard" engine out of a wreck. I've had one of those, two in fact, thanks. Even if that's where the one Rob may find comes from, he's a mechanic and he'll know if it's any good or not, as much as a thing like that can be known. Helluva lot more than me, for damned sure. He even offered to help do the engine switch(es). He's nearly more excited than I am to get that white Bird back on the road.

However it works out, at least it looks like it WILL work out. I knew it all along. I didn't really spend much time worrying about any of this particular mess, because I always knew (as flakey as this may sound, I don't care, it IS the truth) that God would handle it perfectly and He is.

Wanna know another cool thing? I think I've found someone to cut my hair. She's right down the road, her husband is in the Navy and she's an ex-cosmetologist/stylist/current nurse who misses cutting hair and still wants to do it. So, in one reply to one request on the Philly version of Craig's list, I've found a woman who sounds exactly like my Dad's sister Linda, as far as the "hair chick who became a nurse, but still does hair on the side" and the fact that her husband is stationed at Willow Grove, after Eric was also in the Navy AND the fact that she's very local makes me believe I've found "the one". Of course she's "the one". She'll be PERFECT, cutting it just right, making me love it all over again, then her husband will get reassigned and I'll never see her again. Right?
We shall see, I guess.

Is that everything? Damn near, I think.

Only other two things I can think of are "why" I'm still still awake and a possible spam comment I got that I actually kinda liked. It freaked me out a little, anyway.

I'll do that one first.... lem'me go re-start the coffee pot (which is the third "thing"... sigh.)

Okay, I'm back.

So, the spam comment I got... it was just yer standard stupid spam, except that the quote they used was Daffy Got-damned Duck, straight outta the EXACT cartoon I've been watching (with one eye, more or less) the last day or two. It's that one where Daffy is Robin Hood and Porky is Frair Tuck. In it, Daffy tells Porky that he'll go rob yon traveler and give the money to the poor to PROVE he IS Robin Hood. Well, imagine my shock seeing that as a spam comment just after hearing Daffy himself say it three or four times lately. I marked it as spam at Yahoo mail, but I didn't bother deleting the comment itself. Screw it. Anybody who'd quote Daffy Duck can hang out in my comments (once they're there) all they want, but since it's spam, they've been blocked from returning... allegedly.

Now, as for why I'm not in bed by nooooow... I'm stupid.
No, really it's because by the time I got done checking on Action, it was around 3:00am and Eric needs to get up by 4:30/4:45am and he was up late because the boys got here (with ONE EXTRA, but they're only staying til Thursday BECAUSE of Mr. Extra-kid, so fine) and he wanted to see them before he went to bed.

Plus the friggin coffeepot is so fulla crap from the water, it shuts off before it finishes a pot of coffee and it's made to go off on it's own after TWO HOURS. That's a tad re-freakin-diculous, so I decided to clean it out now, while I'm waiting for it to be time to get Eric up.

So, here I am. I've run a pot of half water and half vinegar through said coffee pot. When that got done, I poured most of that back in and topped it off with water WITHOUT SeaMonkeys floating in it. When THAT got done, I put a pot of pure water in it. When THIS gets done, I'm gonna do pure water two or three more times, THEN... I'm going to bed. By that time, Eric'll be up, out and a third of the way done milking. In fact, I have to go get him up now, sooooo...

Talk to ya's later... sometime... soon, I hope.

Peace.

*whispers*
Oh, and it's now officially 51 hours. I fully expect to be in bed before the end of hour 52. 53 at THEE LATEST.
I swear.

Posted by: Stevie at 05:09 AM

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