Good Fences...

...need to be better fences.

Yesterday was rough, but it had some bright spots. Thank you. You know who you are.

This morning started with promise, but went rapidly down hill. I chanced to look outside and noticed something amiss.

See the dirt? See the void where a planter with sprouting lettuce or spinach used to be?

Note the pink scrap in the middle of the dirt. It used to be a Camellia, firmly attached to the bush.

Hmm. Where could it be?

Why, look there, in the yard. How'd it get there? I wonder...

Nothing left inside but the dirt that refused to vacate.

And another lonely Camellia bud. You can't see 'em, but there are puncture marks. Say...does the Chupa Cabra like salad? Umm...not so much.

However, the neighbor's dog does. Can you see the paw prints?

Look harder...they're in there.

Right there.

Hey, I'm no CSI with those fancy cameras...I'm doing my best, here.

Not shown? The white bucket Someone was trying to root a tree in - tipped over, part of the tree missing, dirt strewn. The 2 litre bottle we'd turned into a planter for the Evil Genius's find, an acorn that was sprouting, he wanted to watch it turn into an oak tree - dirt scattered on the driveway, acorn naked and forlorn on the concrete, bottle nowhere to be found. All of the planters dug through - sprouting spinach, lettuce, tomatoes uprooted, disturbed. The front garden bed full of hopeful little tomato seedlings - trodden upon, dug into, seedlings broken, crushed, killed. The back garden bed where Someone has been working so hard to double-dig, more tomato seedlings and other seeds planted with hopes of sprouts soon to be seen - full of paw prints, dug up, run through. The rowan sticks that Someone set aside for me to make wands with - dragged across the yard and to the neighbor's house. Camellia blossoms shredded and left in the cul-de-sac, our yard, the neighbor's yard. And one big pile of something that didn't come from anyone living in this house...because we have indoor plumbing, thankyouverymuch, and if one of the outdoor cats left that, we need to rethink their diet.

I had to go over to the neighbor's house, ring the bell, and have a chat. Y'all, I loathe confrontation. I don't like causing stress to anyone. But...Someone was ready to kill, this morning, and I can't blame him. These gardens aren't a hobby, they aren't for fun...they're meant to be a food source for our cash-strapped home, and whenever possible to help provide for family and friends, too, and maybe put up a bit for winter and, if we may dream big, to possibly sell via CSA or farmer's market. We (more he than I or the Evil Genius, but still...we...) put sweat, time, effort, hope, and money into these beds, these seeds. None of that can happen of the damn dogs are running loose all night, tearing it up. And only in our yard, it seems.

So I told the neighbor that there were clearly paw prints in the garden beds, and that we're growing our food here, and it has to stop. I also mentioned the big pile of something I didn't put there. I told him "I don't want to be a bad neighbor, but I can't afford this, and we need these crops. It's our food..." He was very apologetic. It was funny, in a horrid sort of way, because we weren't talking more than a few moments when the dogs escaped the back yard and were in our yard...where Someone made it clear they aren't welcome. It seems the back gate doesn't always close securely. He really did seem sorry, and I'm hoping they either fix or pay better attention to the gate latch.

It is tempting to ask the neighbor to send his kids over to help dig, weed, sweat a little, because I think they're the ones being careless. A little time spent trying to get this red clay to yield food should help them understand why it's important. Never mind that my kid is terrified of those damn dogs and won't go outside if he sees them.

Sigh.

I may have joked with a friend about having a Korean BBQ, with the dogs as guests of honor, if it happened again. I'm not violent, and don't blame a critter for being what it is...so please don't yell at me for that. I am fed up, though...and while I really, really don't want to call animal control, if it happens again, I will. Because otherwise, Someone will be forced to defend his bit of Earth in very primitive fashion, and I can't blame him one little bit.

Aww, Poor baby*

*Best if read while dripping with sarcasm.

I just read a headline that says "President's Hourly Pay Isn't So Great: If you factor in all of the time that he puts in, Barack Obama's salary works out to only $45.63 an hour."

Really? Is that all? Poor baby...imagine only making $45.63 an hour, with your meagre benefits being a large, fully furnished house, an on-call chef, personal security, limousines and aircraft of several varieties at your disposal, the best health care available in the world, Camp David for vacationing in, laundry service, and your every need and/or whim met almost before you know you have one. Let's have a fund raiser, shall we?

Pfft. And tch. And bah!

Here There Be Dragons

I am trying to let go of some anger right now, because it is making me physically ill; I've had a headache since Wednesday, my neck is seizing up, my stomach is roiling, and worst of all I am short-tempered with Bird, who deserves better.

I took him with me last night because he didn't deserve to be cloistered with Mad Mommy in Casa de Crazy all night. This evening we went out so he could play with a friend, because I didn't want to sit at home and snap at him until I got so pissed off I wanted to lock him in his room just for being a normal, healthy, active little kid.

I don't feel like explaining why I'm angry. Honestly, I started to - it got long. I mean, even for me, it was too freakin' long, and y'all know I'm all about some War and Peace type entries. It got personal, and it got hurtful, and I was just getting angrier, and I decided it just wasn't worth the effort.

So now I'm writing this instead. Really, we're all better off. Well, maybe not me - I still feel like shit.

I am seriously considering taking my kid, selling the one thing of monetary value I have besides my van (the family heirloom diamond engagement ring that my mother wore and passed on to me, the stone for which one of my ancestors dug up from an Egyptian tomb a bazillion years ago and had cut at Tiffany's - OK, long story I'll tell later), and going on a two week cruise where he's in child-care all day having fun with camp counselors and other kids and I sit on the deck and drink stuff I can't pronounce but that makes my face go numb, flirting unsuccessfully with bartenders, cabana boys, and anyone who doesn't run away in abject fear - all without a cell phone and without telling anyone exactly where we've gone or when we'll be back because I just don't think they'd miss us or even notice we'd gone. Maybe Mum would like to come along - after all, I'd be hocking her ring, it's only fair I buy her a ticket, too.

Oh, hells, I went long anyway.

I will end (at last!!) with this - it is difficult enough to go through life on the balance beam that is mental illness without having to dodge (figurative) wrenches flung at my (figurative) head by someone who should know very well what they're doing and either hasn't grasped it yet or just doesn't care...either of which means I am not worth the effort, which just brings me back to why I'm pissed off and don't need to write any more tonight.

Right now? Here there be things that even dragons fear.

Aaargh!

WTF is Fanbox and why do I keep getting e-mails from it telling me people want to be my adoring fan?? People I don't know, no less!! And then there's Fanbox Notes, which is trying to convince me that people I don't know want to ask me questions.

And don't get me started on the instant messages claiming that complete strangers have a crush on me, but I only get to know who if I click a link and play some sort of game. Grrr.

I also recently got one of those "Hi there, I am a foreign national trying to smuggle untold fortunes out of my country and if you'll give me your bank account number and passwords, I'll gladly share my millions with you..." e-mails, and this one claimed to be from a US soldier!! Despicable! I laugh off the ones from people claiming to be widows of Kuwaiti diplomats trying to get money out of the country, but this? Claiming to be one of our soldiers risking his life overseas? Oh Hell to the no! This one? I'm reporting to the FBI.

Does this happen to you? Or am I some kind of freak magnet??

Hmm.

Remember when I wrote about my frustration with those recorded political phone calls? No? Well, it seems the politicians aren't reading my blog, either.

In just this week, I've had three calls from computers desperate for my vote. It must be the computers that want the vote, because it's never humans who call. I've seen Terminator Two, and I know what happens when you give computers all the power. I'm not falling for it - if a computer calls, I am carefully taking down the name and letting the person know I'm on to them and their machine masters, and they aren't getting my vote.

How long before the men in white coats come calling, do you think??

Button, Button (Grrr...)

Long morning started too bloody early after late night me grumpy, grumpy, grumpy, stupid computers won't work (two desktop, four laptop) no online because modem snafu with service provider, argh!!!, have to reload online access program on two computers because one was cleared (modem issues and anger management issues collided) and the other suddenly decided to eat its own innards and become corrupt, freezing up in the middle of a blog post and sending me right over the edge, also freezing whole system so no programs would open, close, or do the chacha...pant...pant...modem slower than molasses climbing Kilimanjaro on a cold day but at least service is free until provider fixes their snafu that stared this whole bloody mess, and...

You're getting a button today because I'm irritated, tired, and now seriously pressed for time to get everything done that I had planned. I hope your day started and continues better than mine!!