February Sweeps - Day 139

Still at the cabin.  I woke up twice in the night with bad dreams.  One was that I was accused of a rather sordid crime and everybody around me was eager to believe it (pretty realistic dream, that), and the other was that somebody had come to the cabin to kill me, and was lurking right outside the door, which I'd forgotten to lock.  It was odd because I became convinced that I had to kill him first (I had a shotgun with me), and I had the element of surprise since I knew where he was and he didn't know where I was, but should I do it, since I had no idea WHY he wanted me dead and it could've been a misunderstanding?

My experience with dreams is that these thoughts occur in the blink of an eye, and both dreams could have been within minutes of each other.  But I woke, and the light was still on after the first one, and I turned it off, and it was still dark in the sky after the second.  I then woke a third time--the fire had gone out and I was getting cold, and it occurred to me that, with the sky grey rather than black, I could get up then and start my day and have HOURS of extra time to write and read and basically not sleep.

But I didn't.

As it stands, I woke up early (early for me--seven-something--not early for you, I'm sure), edited for a few minutes on the next Outcast episode (Father's Day is Sunday, and I recorded the sucker in March for release then, and it looks like I'm not going to make it), and then did go back to sleep under the pretense of reading my book (which I managed about a page of).

I have tried three times to start the fire going again today, and it just goes out.  No matter how fast I type, my fingers are still getting cold.  Guess I could do some more sit-ups.

This was a really strange trip for me, because unlike the last two, I started to get really bored early on.  Part of it was that I had brought a movie from the library that I wasn't enjoying at all, and didn't even bother to finish after struggling to reach the halfway point.  And the book I brought (which I started last week) couldn't hold my interest, and I'd nod off every time I opened it (like reading my blog, right, kids?).  By noon, I was thinking of what to do for the rest of the day, maybe go for a hike?  Maybe do more sit-ups?

I edited another Rish Outcast through to the end (which makes two this week), and maybe I could've continued my EMPIRE STRIKES BACK episode from last week, but I just didn't want to.  I guess this is just too much of a good thing.

The cabin right next to ours has people in it, for the first time in living memory.  I remember my dad being friends with the couple that owned it, but they went out of the country for a couple of years, and were gone when he got sick.  I've never been over there (well, I buried a skunk right there where they're parking their cars one time, but that shouldn't count), but they seem to have two living rooms side by side, with two doors that each lets out onto the deck, as though these are cabins at the Bates Motel.  And unlike this one, which my brother set up for solar power, their electricity runs on a generator, which is so loud, you'd think the world's horniest woman is over there getting off all day long.

Sorry about that.  Sometimes I forget that strangers can read this blog.

At one point yesterday, I heard a loud buzzing (not a generator and not vibrator this time) here in the cabin, as though a bumblebee or big wasp had gotten in.  I tried to figure out where it was coming from, but never had any luck.*  But today, I came in from outside (I was gathering up kindling for if I needed to build a fire next time--and I'm sure I will, since I use the heat stove to cook my soup) and saw a huge, fat wasp flying around right by the window behind me while I type this.  I grabbed the flyswatter and squashed it in my very first attempt.

But then I looked at it, and for maybe the first time in my life, felt bad about killing a wasp.  Wasps are evil, hateful things (in the voice of Craig Ferguson, "Wasps are the skinheads of the insect world!"), and this year we're living in a world with creatures called Murder Hornets buzzing around, but there was something unspecifically beautiful about this one . . . and I had killed it.  It hadn't stung me or anything, but I had killed it simply because it had gotten indoors.

That was vexing.  Like I said--skinheads, and a universally-hated animal (heck, we've all met somebody who keeps cockroaches as pets, but NOBODY would keep a wasp as a pet)--but it seemed like a bad thing that I had done, killing it.  Like when John Huston was reported to have said, "It's not a crime to kill an elephant . . . it's a sin.  And that's why I want to do it."

But I must be mentally ill, because I've no respect for people who say don't smash stinkbugs, or that animals are people too, or that dipshit centuries ago that said it was immoral to kill rattlesnakes even if they're threatening your children, or folks that think that you should flagellate yourself when a cat darts under your tires** . . . so maybe I just need to pack up and get out of here, or I'll start talking to Wilson the Volleyball, and weep like a child when he washes away.

Man, that was a good movie.  Remember how the trailer gave it all away, even that he gets rescued at the end?  Bastards.

I did some writing, mostly on "Only Have Eyes," because I don't know where the egg story is going . . . but I did come up with an ending last night for "Podcatcher."  I dunno, maybe I blogged about that already, but I thought I had a solution for the ending, and jotted down my notes for it, though I don't count those as writing words unless it's actually writing prose.  Big feels the same way, so that's our rule, and hey, don't kill that poor rattlesnake that just sank its fangs into Marybeth, you sinner.

I did end up leaving early, which the me from the last two weeks would simply not have believed.  I was just too bored there, I suppose.  There was, of course, work waiting for me when I got home, and I did a bit of it, went running, and am even going to bed seven minutes early.

Sit-ups Today: 300 (see, I told you I was bored)
Sit-ups In June: 2384

Words Today: 1286
Words In June: 18,314

*It was almost like it was playing with me--when I'd come close, it would stop buzzing, and when I'd give up and walk away, it would start up again.

**I once ran one over driving home from my shift at McDonalds in the town I call McKay in my stories, and I stopped, right there in the middle of the street at night, turned on my emergency blinkers, and got out on my hands and knees to see if it might be alright.  I was thinking, "I'm going to have to tell one of these families I killed their cat, even though it's 1:30 in the morn--"  And then the cat jumped out, horror movie fake scare-style, with a yeowl, and took off across the road, seemingly unharmed.  Scared me pretty badly, so . . . lesson learned.