I realized that the “after the holidays” procrastination excuse had worn whisper thin when I was reminded I’ve got chores and responsibilities on Saturday morning by Miss Carol slapping me awake.
Get up and finish my house, she snarled.
She followed the slapping with a thunder elbow to my stomach that left me gasping and retching and then Miss Carol reared back and pushed me with her feet, shoving me out of bed, Cutter and Tug standing next to her, snapping and yipping at me.
I crawled to my feet and before I got to the bathroom Tug and Cutter were wrapped protectively around Miss Carol and she was snoring again.
So I drove down to The Little House of Horrors and desultorily pounded some nails and tiredly worked on some of the close-in inspection issues.
Building a house ain’t fun.
It’s exciting at the beginning when the lust is crystalline and the dreams are still ambrosia scented. But then the work sets in, and unless you’ve got the money to elegantly direct others to do it, and Miss Carol and me don’t, it becomes a monumental chore.
So I poked around and messed with little shit, my breath clouding in the cold.
When I couldn’t get the generator started I gave up and stood in the driveway looking up at The Little House of Horrors, wondering what it is I’d wrought.
I really gotta get fired up and FINISH this thing.