The windows are open and the rain soaked air is lilting through my apartment in waves, each chasing the one before it through the bedroom window and out the kitchen door. The dull taps of water on soaked and frozen ground persists only out done by the collection of pots, pans and bowls on my kitchen floor catching the leaking roof water as the great pile of ice on top a flat roof in Ohio melts slowly.
The sixty degree wet breeze feels like spring. The slushy mud with random small tufts of grass seems like march.
I fleshed my fresh sheep skins yesterday. I feel like I'm completing a puzzle or those sprints in gym class where you continually go back to the beginning and each time you get a bit farther. Round one, I collected the skins but didn't flesh them in time so they got tossed. Round two I got the skins and fleshed them but then I wasn't sure the next step and so I spent more time shopping for battery acid than I did completing them.
This time they are fleshed and I have my tanning solution of kerosene and baking soda. They need washed a couple of times and I'm debating on taking them to the laundromat. I probably wouldn't be welcome back if I did that. So hmm.... Maybe grandma would let me use her washing machine, despite all better judgement.
I have a busy day and a half cup of coffee to start. One pear and a grapefruit but the rest of my fridge looks like a bachelor. Well, a bachelor with an affinity for roll butter and good cheese.
Then tonight, I party with my youngest kin, returning home from a month or so abroad, hopefully a bit wiser. I will try to be nice. Maybe I'll bake something. As long as I'm moving, I'm fine. It's just sitting there watching livers get pickled and philosophies spun that gets me angry sometimes.
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