today I got brained with a crow-bar

10:23 PM

Caution: this post was typed at 10:45 pm at the end of a long, tiring day. read at your own risk...

Last night I laid awake 'til three in the morning. I figured I might as well read to myself while I waited for dawn, since I was getting an "F" on my sleep report card anyway. So I grabbed a stack of books off my desk. "Meet Felicity, an American Girl" I groaned inwardly, convincing myself I was insane to read this little illustrated children's book during the wee hours of the morning. I even considered dashing out to the rec room to find "Great Expectations" or any other fat book that I could later brag about reading at three in the morning, merely because I was hooked.
Now where was I? Oh, I was leading up to how Aaron shot a raccoon this morning. So very macho. Anyways, I decided to suffer through the Felicity book . Suffer I did, I even moved on through to the second book in the series. Oh no, her dear darling mother was about to die, and she wasn't going to be able to go the ball after all. Boohoo. I started on the third book. Well look at that, it's already four in the morning, still three more hours before I can start my day. Then a sudden random wave of sleepiness decided to return from its vacation (I'd been waiting for this since 10:30 last night!! Sheesh!!) and I conked out with great enthusiasm. Even with my wacky dreams, sleeping sure beats reading about Felicity the happy freckle-faced American Girl..

I woke up with a start, as if it suddenly occured to my brain that it was supposed to wake me up 40 minutes earlier. I tumbled out of bed, remembering all the things I was supposed to do before leaving to go help remodel the Scott's rental. Eventually, I realized that Macy had been barking this whole time, so I looked out the back window. She had parked herself a few inches from the animal trap in our backyard, and she was chewing out a frazzled, caged raccoon for existing. I hollered and tripped over my own feet trying to get to Aaron's door to chew him out for being asleep while there were dangerous animals out on the property to be shot and killed. He groggily tumbled out of bed, and tripped over his own feet to get in on the action. Long story short: I made sandwiches for us to take along with us to the Scott's place while Aaron sorrowfully planted a bullet in the chicken-stalker's brain, and while Caleb ran around and forgot multiple times to do his morning chores. We left at around 9:30 and pulled in at the Scott's at 10:00.
We joined in on the destruction with exuberance.
Here, Tait, Dylan and Caleb work at gutting the yucky bathroom.

Rawr. "It brings out the man in you." I don't remember if it was Collin Scott, or Tait Deems who said that, but Tait models it for us in this picture.


I also got in the way of type of crow-bar. I think it's called a Fat-mac or something. At first, I called it a Big-Mac, which I realized is a McDonald's burger, which only made me hungry, so I tried not to think about it too much. Plus it made my head-wound throb. Not really. Long story short: Dylan swung a heavy sharp piece of metal, and it made decent contact with my forehead. Need I say more? Aah, yes, I need too. It was too glorious to leave undescribed. I felt like I'd walked into a cabinet, and he said something along the lines of "Oops" and stared at my forehead. "What's it look like?" I asked. He surveyed my noggin with an expression akin to swallowing a pine cone. "Hum, it's bleeding" He was right. It bled very nicely. I swelled with pride. It flowed right down my nose and made cherry-red polka-dots on the floor. I felt like some kind of victorious gladiator, bleeding all over the place. I strutted around for the rest of the day, sporting a crusty dribble of blood down my nose. Dylan did nice things for me, like repeatedly fetching me damp paper towels to dab my wound with. My face was so dusty-dirty that I probably just smeared it around and mixed it in with the blood. Actually, no, it did help, and I thanked him. Poor chap, he said it was his fault, but I was the one who stuck my head in the way of his flying toolery.


I'm tired of sitting here on my duff typing nonsense, so, I'm going to catch up on the snoozing I missed last night. I shall dream of bloody raccoons and bloody foreheads, and dusty demolition debris. So tata, folks....

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