I'm trying to decide whether the reason no one offers to help me load my car at Home Debt is because a) people are no longer very helpful; b) I am usually in my barn clothes and scary-looking; c) I am usually hefting things in myself and my brute strength is intimidating; d) all of the above.
I find aftershave and perfume alarming. Our building superintendent at the office (you remember him - he of the puddle-depth) is now hugging me at every opportunity. Apparently, the 'chasm' in our age difference is beginning to shrink. Unfortunately, and although I am a big fan of real, honest-to-god hugs, I walk away reeking of some treacly aftershave he wears. And let me tell you, that stuff has a LOOOONG shelf life. The sheep find it alarming, too. The fellow who is the boss of our transfer station (dump) is another perfumy character. I have learned how to side-step him, though, so my weekends are scent-free. If you don't count the sheep/goat/llama/chicken/turkey/cat/dog poop.
Why, oh, why does the Mamas & Papas' "Dream a Little Dream of Me" keep looping through my mind? It is driving me crazy!!
I think I have moved out of the State of Denial and into a Plane of Special Blindness; especially when it comes to my living room floor. Yes, it is still not completed. There may be, oh, three hours of work left, tops. And yet..the only time I think about it is when I am safely 30 miles away from it. I can be thinking positive thoughts - having one of "those" talks with myself all the way home (you know the ones - the ones that start with, "Now, Susan, what IS it with you and the flooring project? You know you can do it. You know you must do it. There's no time like the present. Yada. Yada. Yada.)...and yet...somewhere around the 25 mile mark, the iron curtain in my mind comes down with a clank and there's no more flooring in my cognizant future. This PoSB has also seemed to have affected my ability to finish my potholder rug and my cardigan.
I had every intention of moving the trio of turkeys - now named, Wynken, Blynken and Noddy - to the hoop house in the center sheep paddock. They are getting to be big boys (apparently, the LLF Female Mojo doesn't work on turkeys) and it's getting kind of snug in the coop at night. Then, a few days ago while rushing around outside in the morning, trying to cram in as much as possible into the 2 hours of daylight, a big hawk swooped down into the poultry yard. Yikes!!! Where was Roguefort? Under a bush. Who saved the day? Wynken. I'm either going to have to get a braver rooster or keep the hens under the watchful eye of the Big Boyz.
I had to describe my job to someone today, and I described it thusly: A long, long, flat boring road across the plains for miles. Then there's an alien attack. Then I'm back on that road.