I woke up with a hang-over and went to bed a theif

The hang-over wasn't even fairly earned cause it was only 3 Coors lights but apparently warranted due to the 10 hour work day and only banana, a small peach yoghurt and a 2 diet coke diet. 

The day was planned over a week ago and a definite necessity in my final move-out plan so I rallied - packed my Jeep with as many of my storage bins as possible and space for my spazzy boxer dog in the back seat. 

Needed initial stop at the dog park for the daily doggy constitutional and run then we drove to pick up my back-up support, BFF, before the 2 hour drive to our familys mountain house where the storage bins would be kept fot the time being.

Drive was me yackin up the BF with all my up-dating on the work drama and brief stop for over-priced fuel and then a pee stop at MacDonalds.   Even the arrival at the house with the 'ex' there to pick up his stuff was really okay.  Everyone was chatty and putting on their best front considering the last-ness of the situation.

BFF and I spent the next couple of hours drinking Bud Lights in cans which were indeed sporting the Chargers logo and I kept the fire stoked.  Gotta give the 'ex' credit for being kind enough to start up the heater and even start the fire for us before leaving with his pub table, blow-up mattress and cooler.  I won't mention that he forgot his fan but did return my Tom Jones CD.

So, the night grew late and the BFF found her spot on the couch in front of the fire, with our loyal pooch nearby of course cause we vie for her attention.  I knew this was time for my work to begin.  I thought it would be a simple task in my perspective but in the end my knuckles are bleeding and I am looking at newspapers dated October 6, 2000.

Our neighbors in this remote area only come to their cabin maybe once or twice a year.  There was a small, kinda nasty pile of construction wood from a roof repair several years ago in the back of their yard which had some wood that I thought I might snag for our fires in the future - everything is soaked wet now due to recent rain and this particular wood was full of nails and somewhat deteriorated so I didn't think they'd miss it.  My plan was to take a few of the better peices and put them in our shed to dry out.  I took 2 armloads and stored them in our shed.

Hmm.  I thought.  Around the corner the lady who I've talked to a lot, another weekender, has a humongous heap of wood.  And it's piled up like for an army of fires or something but it just sits there year after year with the base of the wood deteriorating into  the earth cause of the snow and rain - can't even figure why they have this much wood or why it's all there.

So, I convince myself, an otherwise really geeky honest person, to go get some of this wood.  I'm thinking an armload - but my brother has this wood carrier thing so I took that along.  Figured I could only carry so much myself anyways.  Boots are already on and mom's knitted scarf from last Christmas was in place, heavy overcoat on, what could go wrong? 

Without using my flashlight I realized that the woodpile was closer to the road than having to walk around the bend and down the driveway cause there were bushes between the road and the woodpile so I decided to cut through.  Ooops, really bad idea.  Thorny, thorny, thorny.  I took 2 steps and was drawn to the wet ground and encased in some badass thorn bush and it was in complete darkness.  This wasn't just a little push through it thorn, this was an "I own you" thorn bush.  See, what a life a crime can lead to?

I actually sat there feeling the wet ground soaking my jeans trying to figure out how to get out of these thorns without tearing my face and ripping up my clothes for about a minute.  Biting the bullet, I just went for it and got out with slightly torn pants, jacket and some skin injuries.  At that point, the wood was earned.  I walked around the bend the down the drive, cut around the shed and there she was: the big, fat, wet, pile.

Using now the flashlight, I did my best to fill my brothers wood carrier, which is really more than I can carry I learned.  I dropped the load 6 times on the way back because the wood was so damn wet and heavy, each time I had to reload the thing.  By the the time we got home it added up to 8 pieces of cut wood.  Worth it?  8 pieces of wood.

Oh crap!  Where are my keys!  I always keep my keys in the same pocket and they weren't there when I got this load back!  Crap.  It's dark.  I fell in the thorns, I walked around the bend and to the woodpile.  Okay, I guess I have to retrack my steps and find them, and so I go.  Oh, and there was the puddle of muck that I stepped in twice.  So, I went back through it all with my flashlight and found no keys but was brazen enough to fill my arms with another messy load of wet wood along the way.  Total of soaken wet wood stolen tonight: 14.  Worth the experience?  Well, it will make for a good rocking chair tale.  Thorn bush attack, mud, muck, cold and now a guilty conscience and a criminal history - for the amount of wood that the gas station sells for about $6.

What does one pack if one must go "on the lamb"?

Oh, and the keys were in the padlock on the shed, right where I had left them of course.

I Know how he likes his bed made

Nevermind that I drove 5 hours today to take my dear friend to have radiation implants placed in his prostate.  Nevermind that we've already been through biopsies and research and decisions and avoided discussions that turned into how pretty the desert mountains look at sunset.

For over a decade, I have watched this perpetual bachelor rise to the occassional occassion of cleaning his home for my arrival to arriving to seeing his reality of grime and disgusting lifestyle.  I have spent many nights cleaning after him and other days and more days of my visits without touching a damn thing and just letting him live in his swill.

One thing I do know about him is how he likes his bed made.  Doesn't matter whether there are sheets on it cause sometimes he just sleeps on the mattress with a towel or a pillow or sometimes just about nothing.  And so you may question, how does that make a bed made?  Oh hell ya.  There is a definite way he wants things and completely different from what many people might think of a bed being made. 

I did make his bed tonight for him, put sheets on it and all.  He does appreciate the creature comforts but as the perpetual bachelor, is a lazy ass.  So, as he was out picking up a friend from work I treated him by my making his bed for him, sheets, blankets and all.  Of course, I made his bed the way he likes it and the way I know he likes it......  I know where to put the Ruger 9mm.  It's always there.  Always in the same place.  He knows where it is.  And so do I. 

He just got back and he's thrilled that I treated him to the bed being made, and he knows I made it just the way he likes it.

Sleep well.