There is something to be said.

There is something to be said for trying to be productive.
But when the old blood fights the new blood every. step. of. the. way.
It gets very old. very. quickly.

There is something to be said for waiting for the old blood to shuffle off this mortal choir before raising the mistakes of the past to the ground. You might have the ghosts whispering in your mind, but at least you don't have the Very Vocal old blood actually complaining in your ear that you're doing it wrong, not doing it right, not doing it the way they want it.

And then, when you do finally get Something done, they have to go mess with it, even though it's perfectly fine, Just. Fucking. Because.


I'm so very irritated that I went all that way, only to get rediculously small amount of petty things done. Because the Old Blood lacks ambition, and can't understand how a bunch of girls might know a thing or two about anything.


Next time, if I get out there, and there's not a scrap dumpster and a trash dumpster, I'm calling the goddamned place up myself, and Shit Will Get Done.

Collecting is a sickness, whether it's animals, or junk cars, or piles up crap wood that isn't actually good for anything.
I got home this weekend only to find two new (broken) weedeaters, 1 new (broken, but good for parts, don'tcha know) hay bailer, and news of 1 new (broken, but i can get it running, don'tcha know) drump truck on the way.

This is a nightmare. All I do is threaten to get rid of shit and a whole new load shows up.

No more pussy-footing.
No more Pandering.
I'm done being gentle.


And I'm buying some fucking cows.

- k.