Reading Headache

After eight hours of sitting at my desk, I took a walk along the logging road. I had a headache, which is rare for me, and needed some air. Beautiful outside, shafts of light coming through the canopy.The green still holding, with all the recent rain. Blackberries everywhere, and I carried a plastic coffee can hanging from my neck so I could use both hands, and I'm a little bloody by the time I get back to the house. Rinsed off, then rinsed again with alcohol; it smarted a bit and I cursed like a sailor for a few minutes, while I picked off some ticks and got a cold beer. Getting a cold beer and cursing struck me as funny. I need to sling-blade a couple of paths, to the outhouse, to the woodshed, to where I park the Jeep; and it would be nice to clear a fire lane, but I'm so involved right now, that I can't seem to do anything else. I'm thinking about an emergency run the library tomorrow because I've already read all of the books I'd gotten for the weekend. I have twenty or thirty books I haven't read, in a neat pile, on top of a crate I liberated from Thomas Jefferson's father's orchard, but they're books I was saving for winter. Part of the larder. I read two books again today. I'm not sure if that's a good sign or not. Part of me says get a life, and the other part of me leans toward a tree-trip pit. Fucking dogs are yipping down on the road, and I hope they don't come up the driveway, I hate being disturbed. I already had my sling-shot out, a cat's eye marble in the pouch. I'm tired of wild dogs and excuses. That whole thing about the snakes, St. Patrick and the snakes in Ireland, come on, Ireland was covered completely in ice, the snakes were all gone. Getting rid of nothing isn't much of an accomplishment.