Chaos Asserts

My current “gotta” list is growing. The deer are eating the vegetable garden so quickly that it is visibly diminishing daily; a fence must be erected*. Cinderella’s wedding flowers must be completed. Paperwork for loans must be completed before collections agents stalk and slay me. The carburetor on the truck must be reassembled before I lose parts or forget what I’ve done.

I’ve been swamped with “gottas” at night, and then stay up too late so that I don’t enter the work-work-sleep cycle and get pissy. Unfortunately, the work-work-read-sleep-don’t-write cycle makes me pissy, as well. And the wakeup-stare-groggily-write-slowly&uselessly cycle doesn’t please me, either. Bridgette, normally more than able to accept half (or sometimes more) of the load, is down with a shoulder injury & meds.

I have a finite number of things to do, and they’re not repeating tasks. I am not, for instance, obsessing about housework. Perhaps I should just clobber as many as I can and see if I can regain control of my schedule.

*Granted, the vegetable garden could be written off; the money it took to grow it, the time spent creating the beds out of sedementary rock, the emotional commitment could all be tossed out. But I’ve lost every damned thing I’ve grown for two years to those thrice-curs’d ungulates, and will be damned if I’ll feed them another season. The past two nights I have chased them across the acreage, flashlight in one hand and a rock in the other, naked under the full moon with a mind washed in blood. I don’t know that I care that much about the vegetables. But I loathe those deer, and will sooner see us all go up in the forest fire I will set to slay them than support their smugly well-fed faces another year.

…and, yes, I meant literally that, unclothed and armed with stones, I chased the deer through the night, murder in my heart and a primitive growl at my lips. The dog lay up on the deck, watching the spectacle with incurious eyes each time. Oh, she’ll bark and howl at descending darkness, point and lunge at moths, and she’ll whip herself into canine meringue fury over the neighbor’s pig, but when the deer casually step through the living room, eating the houseplants as they go and checking the refrigerator as they pass the kitchen, she just passes the time of day with them in a familiar and comfortable way. Dog! Hah! Don’t get me started.

13 thoughts on “Chaos Asserts”

        1. Yes, well. Whatever hairy-man thing I was getting in touch with, whatever masculine power I might have built up in the chase through the moonlit night, was disapated by Bridgette’s smirk.

          …and her observation that running in the cool night has an effect on male anatomy.

          I just know that my tribal forebears didn’t have to deal with this sort of thing.

          1. *pats on the shoulder*
            yes well. sorry I’m not there to forcibly insert long needles into the rats with hooves. perhaps a rock would be less effective than say, something bladed, or some kind of firearm packed with some sort of mineral?

            *snickers behind hand*

          2. I just know that my tribal forebears didn’t have to deal with this sort of thing.

            You’re wrong.

            How do I know? Your tribal forebears reproduced successfully.

          3. I think you misconstrued the effect that running and cool air had on anatomy. Pointing and giggling do NOT encourage reproduction.

          4. No, you were correctly construed. My point was that if your tribal forebears couldn’t deal with snark, you SO would not be here.

          5. Hmph. Your point is well taken. My line must have a genetic predisposition to seek out those who have mastered the cutting remark as their main mode of communication.

  1. Slingshot. Atlatl. I could see if I could get a kid to make you a spear.

    For now, I am going to go out hunting the elusive Chocolate. devilsaprentice told me to.

    1. I procured a slingshot last night, and successfully deployed it at 1AM. One deer is confused by the glancing blow across his back, and another (at extreme range) decided she didn’t know what just whizzed past her, but she didn’t want to, and left.

      Be careful hunting chocolate. They’re viscious when cornered.

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