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whatever happens

April 2017

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whatever happens


FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!

It's RAINING AGAIN!

I am SICK AND TIRED of dredging through mud to the barn. For the last three weeks, I've been doing it. Mud, 2"-4" deep. Everything takes half again as long, and twice as much effort. Normal walking is impossible. With every step I take, the odds are that I'll wrench my bad hip or my knees, either from sliding or twisting, or from my boot getting stuck and having to be pried out (if I don't come right out of it and plant my bare foot in cold muddy water as well). I'm fucking EXHAUSTED. Every night, I crawl into bed stiff and in pain, despite hot baths and pills. I'M TIRED OF IT! I swore to myself that if it rained again this month, I was going to either kill someone, or myself. And guess what? MORE FUCKING RAIN is predicted for the end of the week! Stay tuned to this channel, folks. My next entry might be from jail. Or worse.

It's not just the daily effort that's made harder. (You want hard? Try pulling a cart with 150 lbs of grain through ankle-deep mud.) There's also more work to be done. We couldn't put out the round bales because of the fucking mud. Our truck wouldn't have made it. A fucking tractor would have gotten stuck. So for two weeks, every night, we had to cart a square bale out and distribute it, on top of our regular work. Of course the mud is deepest where the horses walk the most, because they chop up the ground, and guess where that is? Yeah, right by where we had to put out the hay.

(We did get a reprieve on that job for the next two weeks. We had a window of a few hours - and "few hours" is quite literal - when it was dry enough for a four-wheel drive vehicle to get through, so we got a guy to come out and deliver round bales for us. However, he can't do it again; he doesn't have any more. So if it doesn't stop fucking raining, we'll be back to doing the square bales again. Of course, if it doesn't stop raining, we'll have to forget the hay and build a fucking ark.)

And the poor horses - even the barn is soaked, since (a) the roof leaks (normally not a big problem, except when it rains and rains and rains and rains and rains and rains and rains and rains) and (b) they bring mud in with them, on their feet. So they have had no dry places to stand, never mind lay down. They've had wet feet for three weeks. It SUCKS.

To top it all off, at least for me, we had to buy grain today. Theoretically, it was not supposed to rain today, so buying grain should have been safe. The truck leaks, since we can't afford a new camper top, but since it wasn't supposed to rain today, we thought we would be OK. But noooooo. It rained. So now some of the bags are wet. I don't know how many yet. I'll have to check in the morning, in daylight. But whatever bags are wet, we can't put them in the shed. They have to be opened and emptied right away, because if you leave them, the grain gets moldy. Which is fatal for horses, so it would have to be thrown away. With each bag costing $7-12, we can't afford to waste any. Therefore, tomorrow I have to empty the truck, inspecting every bag. (There are 12 bags - 11, now, since I took one down tonight.) Any bags that are wet, I'll have to load them up and, instead of just carrying them the short distance to the shed, I have to ... yeah, you got it... put them in the cart and drag them through the FUCKING MUD to the barn. It's possible that I'll have to take them all. That means four trips. The only time I've ever made four trips to the barn was once when I was depressed and furious, and on an adrenalin kick. ON DRY FUCKING GROUND.

*sigh* I almost remember what that was like. Dry ground, I mean. We've had a 3-year drought. I know it's been bad for other people, but right now, I'm thinking of it fondly. I'm daydreaming about Death Valley. Whenever I overhear someone talking about the rain and they say, "We need it," I want to knock them to the ground and jump on their heads.

To add insult to injury, our last water bill, approximately $135, included a fucking "drought surcharge" of $40. YES, THAT'S NOT A JOKE.

And as if things aren't hard enough... When Randi has to work late hours, I don't get to bed until late. Sometimes 1:00 AM. (And since, as most of you know, I have to wake up at 4:00 AM, that's not good.) I can deal with it for one day, or even two, but after that, I start missing those measly few missed hours of sleep, and it becomes dangerous for me to drive. So what does Randi's stupid, Napoleonic, retarded, fuckwit ass-hat of a boss give her for next week? All five late nights. Three are 11-8, which is bad enough, but two of them are 12-9, which means she won't even get home until almost 10:00.

And just to make my life even happier, the mouse population has about doubled. Everyone's complaining about mice lately, since the constant fucking rain is driving them indoors. They ate some of my Dove chocolate from Christmas. As soon as I'm not trying to simply survive from day to day, IT WILL BE WAR.

Comments

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!
It's RAINING AGAIN!


Never move to England, Kat. Never.

Seriously, though, I'm so sorry that the rain has caused such terrible problems for you. I can only keep my fingers crossed and hope that the weather brightens up sometime soon. Keep your chin up and keep smiling, dear friend.
LOL! I've always wanted to move to England. But if I do, I won't have horses, or even a yard if I can help it.

Thanks for the good words. :)
Um... *hug* ? I don't know what else to say...!! :(
Thanks! Hugs are great things to get.