In seven days, I've fought some major battles. The war isn't completely done yet, but I'm making headway into Enemy Territory.
Day one was the ants. A quick google trip, a healthy dose of Borax, and getting rid of month old rotting food off the counters and I feel confident that I have the little bastards dominated until I leave for the next fire.
When the carnage from that bloody skirmish was winding down I launched a counter attack on the dishes and laundry that were attempting a surprise attack from the Far Reaches. It took some mustering, but I think that after purginga both washing machines with a scourging of vinegar, and beating the piles into a mission, I can call myself ahead of the game.
The next battle involved strategic maneuvering of resources to begin undermining opposing forces by some covert operations in the Big City, where I acquired materiel for the next course of onslaught and conferred with allies for intelligence that could make or break upcoming victories. This involved doctors appointments, lunch and beers.
The next day was back in the trenches where I encountered the overwhelming sabotage of pets with health issues, fleas and GINORMOUS vet bills. I left the field bloodied and a little worse for the wear, but not completely defeated.
The next battle involved strategic maneuvering of resources to begin undermining opposing forces by some covert operations in the Big City, where I acquired materiel for the next course of onslaught and conferred with allies for intelligence that could make or break upcoming victories. This involved doctors appointments, lunch and beers.
The next day was back in the trenches where I encountered the overwhelming sabotage of pets with health issues, fleas and GINORMOUS vet bills. I left the field bloodied and a little worse for the wear, but not completely defeated.
After a night in hiding (I.e. Someone Else's house), I engaged subversive forces in the battle for control of my professional writing skills. There wasn't a lot of territory gained but I held my ground for future advances. Applying a few tactical tricks I have learned along the way, I managed to eek out some propaganda in spite of a fairly extreme case of writer's block. As a reward I met with cooperating parties for a Watermelon Blonde at Northern Ales.
The next day I retreated from the frontline and basically hid in my bed all day long. I was finally able to lay to rest the outcome of Season 5 of GoT and slog through Season 2 of True Detective. Hard work but I pulled it off. It took a lot of popcorn and cherry jelly bellies.
Day 6 was a combination of intelligence gathering and reinforcement for the coming battle. I got a haircut, ran a bunch of errands, and buttoned up a story or two. And then the troops came home.
The Great Battle Started the evening of day 6 and continued into the morning, as we fought valiantly against invading head lice and a bedroom that was knee-deep, wall to wall. Being occupied by hostile soldiers, dishes and laundry were able to flank me and rush in for a resurgent attack. I was outnumbered and grossly underarmed, but somehow, by noon on day 7 the room was showing the hurt of our triumph and the head lice were all but routed. My one relief was the reinforcement delivered at the right moment from Papa Murphy's.
Avoiding "peace in our time" and persevering toward the goal of absolute victory, I launched a counterattack on laundry, forced my writer's block into submission for a couple more stories and even cooked a real dinner that Noone is going to love tonight, but might warrant a sneak attack on the dishes from turned Soldiers of the Opposition (i.e. conscripted children). Or it would, if the crock pot settings hadn't been rubbed off of the knob and my guess for the "high" setting wasn't actually the "warm" setting and the dinner had really cooked. Where are you now, Papa Murphy? There are enemies EVERYWHERE.
I am not convinced, in this heated moment, that the injuries I have sustained are not life-threatening, even though verified sources tell me that I am fine and a big whiner. But Dang, my shoulder hurts like a son-of-a-gun.
Also: I need a maid. and another fire assignment, STAT.
The next day I retreated from the frontline and basically hid in my bed all day long. I was finally able to lay to rest the outcome of Season 5 of GoT and slog through Season 2 of True Detective. Hard work but I pulled it off. It took a lot of popcorn and cherry jelly bellies.
Day 6 was a combination of intelligence gathering and reinforcement for the coming battle. I got a haircut, ran a bunch of errands, and buttoned up a story or two. And then the troops came home.
The Great Battle Started the evening of day 6 and continued into the morning, as we fought valiantly against invading head lice and a bedroom that was knee-deep, wall to wall. Being occupied by hostile soldiers, dishes and laundry were able to flank me and rush in for a resurgent attack. I was outnumbered and grossly underarmed, but somehow, by noon on day 7 the room was showing the hurt of our triumph and the head lice were all but routed. My one relief was the reinforcement delivered at the right moment from Papa Murphy's.
Avoiding "peace in our time" and persevering toward the goal of absolute victory, I launched a counterattack on laundry, forced my writer's block into submission for a couple more stories and even cooked a real dinner that Noone is going to love tonight, but might warrant a sneak attack on the dishes from turned Soldiers of the Opposition (i.e. conscripted children). Or it would, if the crock pot settings hadn't been rubbed off of the knob and my guess for the "high" setting wasn't actually the "warm" setting and the dinner had really cooked. Where are you now, Papa Murphy? There are enemies EVERYWHERE.
I am not convinced, in this heated moment, that the injuries I have sustained are not life-threatening, even though verified sources tell me that I am fine and a big whiner. But Dang, my shoulder hurts like a son-of-a-gun.
Also: I need a maid. and another fire assignment, STAT.
