My wrists are sore and bleeding. Not what you think. For my celebration of Easter my family and I ran a log splitter on Saturday and Sunday. A third stack of wood measuring 36 feet long, two feet wide, and six feet high now sits in the yard awaiting a conflagration. The soreness and bleeding, along with a collection of bruises, has been one the results. Hubris has its price and my hubris is that I can do nearly anything I set my mind to. Bullheadedness. Or being a stubborn Swede (not swede, which is a kind of rutabaga). Does this have any merit on writing? None, except one more major chore is out of the way so that more time can be given over to what is important.
Gad, I hope I don't come across like I'm complaining. Or whining about it. No need for that. But the statements of facts can come in the form of whining. As ... I tire. I must grade papers. The week-end vanisihed in a morass of home ownership.
Easter candy goes on sale tomorrow. Enjoy.
Peeps (those pink and blue marshmallow thingies) frighten my stomach. It flutters with horror every time I pass those thing in the supermarket. Reese peanut butter egss, however....
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