Monday, July 11, 2005
Monday, Monday, so good to me
Monday mornin', it was all I hoped it would be
Not.
Soggy and steamy. Drizzly. Mudded out. Rima decided to dig a crater precisely where the buggy would fall into it when I elected to start smoking again and wanted to light the booger in order to acquire a pouch of Bugler. Been outa 'bacca for a while. The Rimaholes were full of water of course. That's OK, she has to live outside and I'd dig holes to live in down in da 'souf in the Summer except I've already done it. Over a quarter of a century later I can give a bit of advice; if you can't afford dehumidification, don't even consider building an earth-shelter. The ceilings, walls, floors are always much cooler than outside and when it's semi-tropical Florida with daily temps of 95° and 90+% humidity, each time one opens the door, a minor ocean condenses EVERYWHERE. This place is completely coated with a fine film of gray fuzz where there's not big black blotches or active fungi growing through the tiny bit of carpeting that is left. The photo I'd posted earlier:
..is a week and most of a foot of rain ago. Every frond and every leaf has a tick on it. With me having had such a bad time with conjunctivitus, there's not a snowflake's chance in Hell I'd allow anyone into the fungus factory [zero ticks; strip and get bathed in DDT before entering. Bring yer own DDT, I gave mine to the mexicans (true. My last can of sheep dip)] before I get caught up with where I was 2 months ago. Quarantined. No one needs to get ill from the massive tick infestation and I sure as Hell don't want anymore brought in now that I am no longer immune.
There were 4 things that Absolutely Positively Must Be Done today. I did none of them. There were a couple of things on the list that kinda needed doin', have to be done eventually, just not important. So I did them instead. Fucked one of them up. 's OK. Mondays suck almost as bad as Tuesdays.
During early morning wakey-time, I read a handful of my favorite writers and there were a couple of inspired and semi-inspired essays that lent themselves to linky goodness. Since the day has left me soaking in a pot of cynic soup, interest has flagged.
* * * * * *
If you want to hear God laugh...tell him your plans.
_________________________
Not.
Soggy and steamy. Drizzly. Mudded out. Rima decided to dig a crater precisely where the buggy would fall into it when I elected to start smoking again and wanted to light the booger in order to acquire a pouch of Bugler. Been outa 'bacca for a while. The Rimaholes were full of water of course. That's OK, she has to live outside and I'd dig holes to live in down in da 'souf in the Summer except I've already done it. Over a quarter of a century later I can give a bit of advice; if you can't afford dehumidification, don't even consider building an earth-shelter. The ceilings, walls, floors are always much cooler than outside and when it's semi-tropical Florida with daily temps of 95° and 90+% humidity, each time one opens the door, a minor ocean condenses EVERYWHERE. This place is completely coated with a fine film of gray fuzz where there's not big black blotches or active fungi growing through the tiny bit of carpeting that is left. The photo I'd posted earlier:
..is a week and most of a foot of rain ago. Every frond and every leaf has a tick on it. With me having had such a bad time with conjunctivitus, there's not a snowflake's chance in Hell I'd allow anyone into the fungus factory [zero ticks; strip and get bathed in DDT before entering. Bring yer own DDT, I gave mine to the mexicans (true. My last can of sheep dip)] before I get caught up with where I was 2 months ago. Quarantined. No one needs to get ill from the massive tick infestation and I sure as Hell don't want anymore brought in now that I am no longer immune.
There were 4 things that Absolutely Positively Must Be Done today. I did none of them. There were a couple of things on the list that kinda needed doin', have to be done eventually, just not important. So I did them instead. Fucked one of them up. 's OK. Mondays suck almost as bad as Tuesdays.
During early morning wakey-time, I read a handful of my favorite writers and there were a couple of inspired and semi-inspired essays that lent themselves to linky goodness. Since the day has left me soaking in a pot of cynic soup, interest has flagged.
* * * * * *
If you want to hear God laugh...tell him your plans.
_________________________
