"Water Damage"
Date: 26 Sep 1994
"So, Kel... how goes the tranquil, bucolic life?"
In which case I'd say to you,
"Die."
Then, during your stunned silence, I'd continue...
"In fact, fuck off and die. Die a horrible, ugly, painful, and
twisted death. Naked. See the white light, get revived and DIE
AGAIN. Now GO AWAY."
"But Kelly," You might protest, "What about the stars? The breathable
air? The harvest moon-rise where the glowing orb starts out
blood-colored, fades to orange as it rises and finally gathers all the
colors at its peak and shines them down in a brilliant white that
throws deep, dark shadows on the landscape? The sweet scent rising
off the green? The fresh vegetables?"
To which I would reply, "Listen, Weasel-boy, it rained on Friday. The
sky dropped 5 inches of water on us inside of 15 hours and much of it
poured off our roof and saturated the ground around our house. Ye
Olde Farmhouse does not yet have gutters, so the streams of water were
pounding directly down and, without passing GO or collecting $200,
pouring into our basement. While alone in the house, I found 3 little
waterfalls causing creeping puddles to cross our floor and join with
their brethren the better to rinse us out. I got thoroughly soaked
going in and out of the barn to feed & water the goats then standing
under the eaves, leaning chipboard against the house to offset the
direct onslaught and thus slowed the subterranean streams down. I
dried off and changed clothes, then removed 3 shop-vac-full-cans
o'water before I started getting light-headed and ate something, after
which I removed 6 more cans then went outside to help my landlord dig
a trench at the base of the chipboard, thus channeling the water away
from the house, down the driveway and pretty much stopping the water
trickling in the house altogether JUST IN TIME for the rain to CEASE.
I got soaked again and dried off again and took out 4 more cans worth
of water. I removed all sorts of nasty, mildew-smelling items from
the basement.
"Suddenly, the fact that everything on the RIGHT side of the basement
is up on pallets made MUCH MORE SENSE.
"The high point of the afternoon was giving my thoroughly damp
landlord his rent check in a zip-lock baggy.
"I also spent several hours scattered throughout the day driving in
the torrential downpour, on various errands, and hydro-planed with my
crappy car and almost DIED at least 3 times.
"That night I thankfully passed out. Saturday, I mucked out the goats
with is just MY FAVORITE FUCKING JOB ON THE PLANET. Really, you must
haul goat-shit and piss-saturated wood chip and hay around to get the
full effect. I also re-built their hay-feeder, which they'd pretty
much destroyed and then FINALLY got to take a shower and socialize
with other human beings for a while -- I've got lots of things to talk
to, but most can't (or won't) answer back.
"On Sunday Simon (adult male Angora goat) got into something
disgusting, slimy and black which he proceeded to get smeared all over
his left side. Don't know what it was. So we washed him. He
alternately tried to eat my clothes, crawl under the tractor and whack
us with his horns. He caught me on the hip, on the pubic bone and in
the thigh. I'm charmed. He probably got me on the knee too, which
would explain the mysterious multi-colored bruise there. Mason &
Kelly's Goat Washing Show plays its second engagement ever!
"Nota Bene: adult male goats do NOT like frigidly cold water sprayed
high velocity at their balls.
"This doesn't even get into the contortions I gotta go through to feed
each animal its grain separately and give them more anti-parasite
sub-cutaneous injections. Nor the pruning and watering and cleaning
and dragging and sweeping and checking and watering and feeding and
regular sorts of things that need to be done around the house and land
*anyway*. Nor the reality that I spent most of the week painting a
well-house so I'll have enough money to keep putting gas in my car to
drive around looking for more work. Nor the fact that I'm broke and
job-hunting and barely managing to keep myself from putting GOATHERD
on my resumes.
"Joy. Country living. My heart sings. So shut the fuck up or
volunteer to help."
By this point of course, you've probably been stuttering and hastily
backpedalling for several minutes and have finally scooted in reverse
far enough over to find a door through which you can escape while I
cackle wildly, revelling in the wake of your terror.
Muck my goats, monkey-boy.
Kelly J.