Cooler Nights

Reach for a blanket. Feels so good to snuggle down under covers. A ruckus at the compost pile wakes me at four in the morning, a couple of hissing feral cats. I throw a rock at them and go back inside, I was hoping for a bear. This whole compost thing has derailed me. Clearly, I can't have an orderly pile, fifty feet from the house, where I deconstruct my waste, denied me by circumstance, but I can still put my organic waste in brown paper bags and toss them into the hollow. The new strategy is that I throw these bags over the top of the truck into the ravine. Fuck a bunch of consolidation. Waste is what waste does. It's cool, throwing bags of crap, over the truck, into the ravine. I admit I was wearing a tee-shirt that might have been offensive. Sorry about that, but Republican tendencies lead me to a line of thought. No river fog today, but several mornings recently it was pea soup. Early, as always, I went upstairs to check for messages and there was a email from D about discussing my Janitorial Responsibilities. Trish had complained to Pegi who told D to tell me that I had been slacking. A foul mood ensued. Bit my tongue. Cleaned and vacuumed the theater, an event in there tomorrow, then scrubbed the floor in the Ladies Room, on my hands and knees, with every cleaning agent we had on hand, because I thought that was probably where the reprimand had originated. The floor is stained. Like so many of my clothes, it's clean but stained. Between janitorial responsibilities, lunch at the pub, Barb sat next to me, and asked why I was in a sour mood. I told her, she immediately offered to hire me and said that I could sleep on the sofa in the front room, nights I couldn't get home. Nice to know there are options, but I love my job at the museum, and I love working with Sara. Of course I've been slacking, we're rebuilding the elevator and there are a dozen guys coming and going. Next Tuesday a crane is coming to lift heavy things onto the roof. The museum is a job site right now. Of course I'm slacking. I have a huge amount of work ahead of me, restoring order, when the construction is finally finished, why are they bitching at me now? Pegi and D are truly busy, way too much on their plate, and Trish is so over-weight that I sometimes wish I had a fork-lift to move her around, so I wouldn't have to hear about the agony of walking. It's a good thing the nights are cooler, because I seem to be backing myself into a corner. Things heat up. I had begged everyone to not leave anything soaking in a sink full of water, the gasket would fail. And, of course, that's exactly what happens. Johnny on the spot, Tom Terrific, I plug the plumbing leak. Did I not predict this in every particular? Not really.