Fodder

You know why I always end up married to the doctor in Harvest Moon?* It’s because I don’t cook nutritious meals with the fancy kitchen equipment that I don’t buy, let alone use — nutritious non-meals which I neither prepare nor consume, because I’m too busy working myself to death. The only interruption to my routine is that, every three days or so, I collapse in a heap in the middle of my vegetable patch and subsequently wake up in the hospital, where I receive a polite-yet-stern lecture about the importance of self-care. Which I inevitably disregard because, hey, I’ve got livestock to tend. They don’t put themselves in the barn unless I ring the bell or carry them there.

Anyway, since the good doctor is the only dude I ever see* — and also because I’m kind of embarrassed that all of our interactions result from the fact that I have a tendency to topple headlong into my tomato plants like a Southern Belle with an attack of the vapors and lie there until somebody stumbles across my prone, barely breathing carcass — I bring him all the random leaves I’ve picked up and stuffed in my knapsack during my travels…until he inexplicably proposes. I guess because he enjoys a good cup of herbal tea, as do I.

Anyway, the scenario I’ve just described is scarily similar to my real life — except without the adorable cows. Also no primary care physician, because as I mentioned, I have fired mine. (Also, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that My Fella, whose cooking skills are AMAZE, keeps me on a fairly consistent meal schedule.)

Well, except for yesterday, when my lunch was this creepy, off-brand Ring Pop:

"off-brand ring pop"

But I digress. To sum up my existence: work, work, sleep a bit, blog post, cup of caffeine, work, work, sleep, some f*cking 11th-hour project with DEADLINE, more caffeine, work, work, anxiety attack, get sick, sleep, work more, blog post, caffeine, deal with flare up of imposter syndrome, work, work, tough it out through mild depressive episode, work, work, work…and then, suddenly, like a ray of sunshine or a Honda Odyssey*** trying to run me down at a pedestrian crossing, BAM! FEDERAL HOLIDAY!

And then I don’t know what to do with myself.

(Also, if my life is going to be like a video game, I kind of wish it were Assassin’s Creed — I’ve already got a favorite hoodie; I merely lack the gymnastic ability to scale minarets and bound across rooftops without stumbling and plummeting into the middle of the marketplace. Or maybe Portal, because I could really use most of that technology in my daily life. Contrary to popular belief, I would not use my newfound ability to put temporary holes in walls in order to commit robbery; I’d probably use it to escape from social events.)

And that’s what I’m facing right now. Soon is HOLIDAY, and in addition to today’s early dismissal, I’ve got 2 days off. TWO! Consecutively! One thing I’ve got to do is committee-related reading. But another possibility is put my projects on the site before my computer dies once and for all. Is this something people would enjoy? Or would everyone be like “Oh god, I hate fiction. MOAR PETS PLZ!”? I honestly can’t tell, and my highly unscientific analysis of my site stats has proven inconclusive. (Regardless, I’d particularly like to make that one anonymous reader in the Bahamas happy, because yay, Bahamians!)

Of course, since it appears that I only have an audience of 3 individuals (and not necessarily the same 3 individuals), I could probably do it anyway and without anyone noticing. Meanwhile, here is a picture of a boy and his dog:

"puppy!"

I like to cover all my bases.

*confidential to My Clone: MY FARM IS STILL SUPERIOR.
**except for the Happy Fisherman, whom I sometimes get to woo with rare sea creatures because I am genius of fishing, especially behind waterfalls, on remote sandbars, and in the lower levels of caves.
***The new @$$hole car. Stop trying to make me into roadkill. Not my fault you can’t afford a Subaru Outback.
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