Sometimes I check my blog expecting that a new post will have appeared in the midst of my general household duties. This small wish is usually the result of a small event that I am sure would make a great post but that I don't have time to write. It happens daily where I write the post in my head and it never makes it to the draft room.
On Monday it was the intense district library meeting where one of the attendees at the meeting, let's call him Ron because that is his real name and he is an Asshole, put me into "try not to kill the guy" mode. I don't really like the word asshole but anyone that assumes half his township can afford to drive 20 miles for library services instead of him having to pay taxes to join a district library is just that. And really, half my REM sleep was wasted on him and trust me that Ron is not a man to dream about.
On Tuesday it was my husbands attempt at saving time. And there is no truer oxymoron than Vinnie and saving time. Kind of like farmer and rich. Somehow he managed to get himself to town and then had to turn around to go the opposite direction for work. The most direct way to go in the opposite direction is getting a new sewer system and the road was closed. Instead of following the detour, Farmer Vinnie decided it would be much more economical to go the secret back way past the elementary school, through a corner of Chuck's field and then onto our own back forty where he would coast into our yard and be on his way. However, it is spring and let's be clear about what spring really means: MUD.
Not soon after he left the phone was frantically ringing and I ignored it because I was in the middle of tree pose. Then the cell phone was ringing, still in tree pose. Then the land line rang again. So I broke my branches because I figured someone must be puking at school. Not quite. Farmer Vinnie saw a huge soft spot in Chuck's field and instead of backing up and taking the detour he floor-boarded it (his exact words) and sank into the mush. He was calling to have me bring New Farm Truck (early 90's with just a touch of rust and you can turn it off at the gas station without worrying about it starting again) out to the site and pull him out, I needn't look for the chain or tow strap as they are both already in the truck. Hum, I wonder why?
Yesterday the stupid dog breeder lady from around the corner decided to take her dog on a run down a busy road with no leash on it. This is a dog that tortures me daily and is let out every Friday morning to tear up the local garbage bags waiting by the road. This lady is a gem and I saw her again this morning holding her dog on the side of the road until I passed on my run. I shot her two looks that were supposed to topple her over dead, guess that really doesn't work, but maybe I knew that as Vinnie is still breathing himself.
The kicker of my week so far was last night when someone suggested that maybe there is a study out there that investigates all the damage runners do their joints and the connection to lupus. **Running=Lupus=My Fault** Really now, maybe if I were breastfed I wouldn't be in this situation. You think?