Saturday, August 20, 2005
I ate a game
By The Erudite Redneck
When Bailey, the po' white trash weinie dog, was little, we would put him in the sun room sometimes, maybe if it was storming or something, 'cause he was afeared to be outside.
He would get lonesome and mad and eat a game. We keep our board games in the sun room stacked on some shelves that the little redneck dog would find a way to climb. He'd drag out a game and tear it to shreds.
After he did this a time or two, any time Bailey did anything naughty, we'd say, "Bailey ate a game!" It entered the family lexicon.
Last week, I ate a game. Dr. ER was in Seattle on business, Bird has already gone back to college -- and I was left all by my lonesome, with a still-sore spider-bitten hoof, feelin' lonesome and depressed and mad.
So, I ate a game.
Until yesterday evening, just before Dr. ER got back home, there wasn't a spot on the kitchen counters or stove top that you could touch without your finger sticking.
Our bedroom and bathroom, usually not in that great of shape anyway, were t-r-a-s-h-e-d.
Mail was piled up in a bigger-than-usual heap in front of my recliner, in the semicircle of books, articles, mail and other stuff we call "ER's Moat."
The yard is out of control. The flowerbeds, too. This office is a pit.
I so totally bachelorized the joint even I'm a little chagrined.
So, today and tomorrow, I'm hoeing this place out.
Books that have sat akimbo for months will be put away -- although I don't know where that will be yet. Articles will be organized or tossed. Clothes, too. There might even be some furniture moving involved before the day is out.
'Cause come Monday, I start pretending I'm back in school. I haven't done s--- all summer, because with no structure imposed on my life, other than work, all I do is go to work, and come home and maybe read, maybe not.
The plan is to be up by 6 a.m. weekdays, here in my home office by 7, work until 9, and be at work-work by 9:30. That's how I managed to do school and work the past three summers, when I had early-morning classes. It is doable.
I have history articles to write, one to do more work on at the behest of the journal reviewers, and a presentation to get together for a conference in November. I have been so uninspired, it's scary.
When you hit rock bottom, some country singer once observed, you have two ways to go: straight up or sideways. A week ago, I hit a bottom of sorts -- and spent all week eating a game.
That game is over. I'm hoeing the house today, getting the yard caught up tomorrow (unless it rains). And I'm heading straight up come Monday.
END
When Bailey, the po' white trash weinie dog, was little, we would put him in the sun room sometimes, maybe if it was storming or something, 'cause he was afeared to be outside.
He would get lonesome and mad and eat a game. We keep our board games in the sun room stacked on some shelves that the little redneck dog would find a way to climb. He'd drag out a game and tear it to shreds.
After he did this a time or two, any time Bailey did anything naughty, we'd say, "Bailey ate a game!" It entered the family lexicon.
Last week, I ate a game. Dr. ER was in Seattle on business, Bird has already gone back to college -- and I was left all by my lonesome, with a still-sore spider-bitten hoof, feelin' lonesome and depressed and mad.
So, I ate a game.
Until yesterday evening, just before Dr. ER got back home, there wasn't a spot on the kitchen counters or stove top that you could touch without your finger sticking.
Our bedroom and bathroom, usually not in that great of shape anyway, were t-r-a-s-h-e-d.
Mail was piled up in a bigger-than-usual heap in front of my recliner, in the semicircle of books, articles, mail and other stuff we call "ER's Moat."
The yard is out of control. The flowerbeds, too. This office is a pit.
I so totally bachelorized the joint even I'm a little chagrined.
So, today and tomorrow, I'm hoeing this place out.
Books that have sat akimbo for months will be put away -- although I don't know where that will be yet. Articles will be organized or tossed. Clothes, too. There might even be some furniture moving involved before the day is out.
'Cause come Monday, I start pretending I'm back in school. I haven't done s--- all summer, because with no structure imposed on my life, other than work, all I do is go to work, and come home and maybe read, maybe not.
The plan is to be up by 6 a.m. weekdays, here in my home office by 7, work until 9, and be at work-work by 9:30. That's how I managed to do school and work the past three summers, when I had early-morning classes. It is doable.
I have history articles to write, one to do more work on at the behest of the journal reviewers, and a presentation to get together for a conference in November. I have been so uninspired, it's scary.
When you hit rock bottom, some country singer once observed, you have two ways to go: straight up or sideways. A week ago, I hit a bottom of sorts -- and spent all week eating a game.
That game is over. I'm hoeing the house today, getting the yard caught up tomorrow (unless it rains). And I'm heading straight up come Monday.
END
