Well, I suppose I should feel refreshed. Reinvigorated. Reenergized,
even. After a week of lifting not a pen or a finger toward fictional or
non-fictional pursuits, I should be raring to go. Really. I should be pumped!
Color me non-pumped.
While the distance from writing I so lauded last week I still believe
to be a necessary sin from time to time, the relaxation this is supposed to
afford becomes rather stunted when soused wildlife become intimately involved.
Seriously.
During my time cabined in the mountains this last week, the following
crashed my holiday…
1.) Drunk raccoon… The juvenile bandit helped himself to the beer and
butter portions of my brother-in-law’s barbecuing pursuits. Half an hour later,
I found the plastered raccoon sleeping it off on the roof outside the game room’s
window. True story.
2.) Live skunk… While this little guy was only spotted down the road
from our cabin, the tiny squirt is a bit of a concern when a certain
four-legged furry muse must be walked in the vicinity. Thankfully, in the end, no
tomato juice baths were required by any party.
3.) Midnight bear wrestling on the deck… I woke up to what sounded like
a herd of buffalo marching up and down the deck outside my bedroom window.
Being the brave sort that I am, I peeked out the curtains to find four bears
visiting. A teenager and his three little sibling cubs had apparently slipped
out of their mama’s den and decided to party at our cabin. After a raucous
match of wrestling each other to the ground, up against the wall, and nearly
through my door, the furry good-timers moved on to wider decks.
So, you see my problem.
*sighs*
No, do not fear the holiday, my friends. Fear the holiday-crashers.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
Post-note: I kindly left out all description of Godzilla-sized spiders,
monster truck-sized grasshoppers and any and all bats. No one should have to
deal with such atrocities on a Sunday morning. You’re welcome.
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