Bitchy, Cold, AND Bat Shit Crazy

Why the hell does it have to go from ninety degrees here to forty degrees in a matter of hours? Please. Why?

I turned the heat on last night and it did nothing. Nothing. Mr. Moon called from the hunting camp to say good night and I told him about the heat. He offered the opinion that the pilot light in the unit is not lit and I'm sure he's right. This damn hulking unit which has broken down over and over again is sitting there doing nothing but collecting the leaves of the pecan trees which are falling at a frightening rate. They are the first to drop in the fall and the last to open in the spring and my back yard is covered in about three feet of the leaves. I actually pitchforked them off the back deck yesterday. With a pitchfork.

I didn't sleep well last night because my hand kept going numb and waking me up because I weeded for several hours yesterday and that always fucks my hand up. The only damn good thing about winter as far as I can tell is that when I have a hot flash I can grab one of the dozen or so pillows from underneath the window and hold it to me which feels better than anything on earth but there's nothing I can do for the numb-hand except change position and hope for it to come unnumbed.

And I'm cold. Two days ago when I walked I sweated so much that my hair was soaked. Today I'm shivering. And of course my damn jeans don't fit. Fuck.

Why do things always happen when Mr. Moon is out of town? Not that he knows how to light the pilot light but he could probably figure it out. I would die of freezing before I could figure something like that out. I would just stand there in front of the hulking monster with a box of matches and weep until I died.

Luckily, it's not THAT cold and besides that, I do have these gas log heaters in every one of the five fireplaces in the house. I could get down on my belly in front of one of them and turn the little dial and hold in the little button and wait, wait, wait for the gas to get there and then release the button and pray for the whole thing to work and then do it all again because it didn't.

Yeah. I'm a real pioneer woman, aren't I?

On top of all of this, I feel like I may have a UTI which, as all ladies know, always happens on a Sunday when the doctor is not IN and so I'm drinking water like crazy and taking that cranberry stuff. Maybe it'll disappear.
Dreams can come true, they can happen to you. Or so I've heard.

I think what I'm going to do is to fill up my giant bath tub with hot water and turn on a space heater in the bathroom and soak for awhile. Simmer like my soup last night until I turn rosy and get warm. All summer long the bath tub has been used to throw my not-quite-dirty-enough-to-wash cargo shorts over the side and occasionally to bathe the dogs in. It's time to put it to better use.

And in the bathroom with my ears underwater I won't be able to hear the rattling, skittering skeleton-like noise of the pecan leaves when the wind comes and whips them around. The sound of winter in Lloyd.

And that's the Sunday report from the Church of the Batshit Crazy where it's cold and the heater doesn't work and the chickens, luckily, have their own down jackets and the sun is shining through the naked branches of the pecan trees and I am feeling bitchy and not quite peachy keen.