I got home from work juuuust before dark and was flitting around with buckets of feed trying to get all the livestock fed like some giant mutant flightless bat. I had a piece of expensive (school) software in the truck that I’d nearly had to sell my soul to Satan to obtain overnight so that I could spend the evening creating a reading curriculum for a specific student out of one of my personal books, so I needed to hurry. Right when the twilight was turning to dark, a neighbor pulled up in the driveway to talk. We talked about weather and pastures and droughts. AAAAAACK! Must. Be. Nice. After 15 minutes of chit chatting during which time I tried to keep the eye twitch to a minimum, he went home. Probably told his wife that it looked like that crazy neighbor lady was fixin’ to kill somebody, so better watch her pastures for buzzards.
Soon after he left, SwampMan pulled up. He looked at me frantically running around in the dark feeding. He yelled “Uh, want to go into town and pick up something to eat?” SwampMan knows that I don’t start cooking until the livestock are all fed, sometimes not starting until 9 p.m. “Uh, YEAH, good idea. I’ve got a curriculum to write!” Into town for takeout, and back home. I run back out to feed the horses, sheep, dogs and cat. I run back inside and eat (now cold) BBQ. I get a call from son and run back outside and hand over a socket set we purchased for him at his behest because his set disappeared from work and, with his long hours, he wasn’t able to get it replaced. I chit chat a little more but this chit chat is of the concerned mom variety, because he has a really bad cold. He’s been working 7/12s and looks exhausted. I then get a call from my mom. Her blood counts (leukemia) are getting steadily worse, and she’s got rheumatoid arthritis as well. It can’t be treated because anything that suppresses the immune system will make the cancer worse. We talk for awhile about Thanksgiving, and who is going where. I have a horrible attack of guilt because I haven’t been able to go up and see her for awhile.
So at 9 p.m., I go the bookshelf to get my book. It is not there. I search other bookshelves. Not there. An hour and a half later, I have books all over the floor from multiple bookshelves and I. Can’t. Find. The. Book. SONOFABITCH! I know that damn book is sitting right in front of me somewhere, taunting me. Perhaps it is a different color than what I remember, and I’m overlooking it sitting out in plain sight. I just had that big bastard out a couple weeks ago looking through it. I accused SwampMan of Doing Something with my book. SwampMan muttered something that included the word “insane” and went to bed. I looked under his Lazy chair. My book is not there. I looked under MY Lazy chair. The book is not there. I looked underneath the couch, the loveseat, the dining room table, the dining room chairs, and, considering the grandkids were here last weekend, in amongst some of the toys. Nada. Could it be with the cookbooks? No. Among my gardening books? No! Among my hobby books? NO!
Aaaaargh! I need this thing done by tomorrow morning, it’s past 10:30 p.m., and I STILL haven’t found the book! I have a bad feeling that I may have accidentally turned my book in to the Jacksonville library when I returned about 20 books last weekend.
A1A South 