Today is the first day of my "twelve day marathon of working until I drop and I really hope this about finishes up the house and courtyard" period. I am filled with fear and trepidation. In order to have a few breaks in the midst of this turmoil, I have plans to take a night when I am absolutely starving, to go to the chinese buffet. Mac hates the chinese buffet, so I will spare him the horrors of Mushroom and Pork and General Tso's chicken. The other break will be attending a Draft Horse and Mule Club meeting. It doesn't start until eight so I can still get my work accomplished that day.
I am geared up for my marathon but unfortunately, I have to start off with bill day. God!! I hate bill day!! I especially hate it when I start having chest pains. I have little doubt that I will die on bill paying day. So, in comparison, working until I drop has a great deal of appeal. I much rather die on my own terms rather then die because of those b*&%#@* at Clarke Electric Cooperative.
Every bill day I dream of putting up my home made wind mills. Then run so much juice back at them that I will make all our money back off the damn buggers. When did utilities become such opportunistic businesses? It isn't like we have a choice on what utility we use. They are monopolies. We are suppose to have safeguards from the abuses of monopolies, but that's a concept that seems to have fallen to the wayside. Far too many people on the "Anything for a Buck" bandwagon, as a result we are consuming the very people that make up the majority of this country's economic engine. The mortgage crisis will just look like the tip of the iceberg in comparison to what can happen as the middle class disappears. Actually, I don't think we are middle class anymore. Well, with Mac working as a teacher, I'm sure that is an economic classification that we just barely rubbed elbows with anyway. No use crying over spilt milk.
Oh well, there is nothing I can do about how much money comes in and how much needs to go out. At least, right now there isn't much I can do about it. But I can decide how hard I sand smooth, how hard I dig deep, how far do I string fence, how big will I dream. In five years the little farm will be done, the mortgage will be paid off, Mac will still be well, Pip and I will be going and riding everywhere, and people will come to see the little farm so they can take a little bit of my dream away with them. And I will tell them that their dream has to be bigger then the bastard that stands in their way. Easy-peasy.