Pride

Proud of what I got done today. Split the two halves that were still in the shed, split out starter sticks and kindling. Then went down the driveway and busted the last seven rounds into 15 pieces (the ultimate butt round I split into three pieces) then wheelbarrowed all of them to the shed. These are heavy pieces, I had to bust them to be able to lift them into the wheelbarrow. I wanted to stop at least a dozen times, but I'd just sit on the back stoop and stare into the middle distance, then make one more trip. I focused attention on using my body correctly, and it seems to have worked because I'm evenly sore all over. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before, but I cleared out a space next to the firebox side of the cookstove, where I used to keep two five gallon buckets of wash water (now I keep the wash water under the stairs) so that I can final cure a rick of firewood in the best possible space. B called, to verify my survival, and to tell me he had some books for me the next time I got out. Maybe Monday. I just know it's a muddy mess right now, up to 50 degrees and the frost coming out of the ground. Tracked in copious quantities of crap today; I'd stop, every once in a while, and sweep up the worst of it, but I tend to kick pieces of bark into the corners. I may hire someone to help me clean in the spring, it's a state of almost crises. I think it's Jock, in Sean O' Casey's Juno And The Paycock that thinks the world is in a terrible state of chaos. Like that. Still, with my newly instituted foot blanket (another lap-robe, $1 at the Goodwill) I can survive very low temps for extended periods of time, as long as I have a good book. It's only later that I realize my feet are cold or that I had forgotten to eat dinner. The last of the chili on crumbled cornbread is fantastic. A pork-fried-rice is next, using part of a tenderloin, I'll hold out the center slices as a breakfast meal. I'm very tired.