True story to share...

Truth? I don't consider myself a prissy woman. You want examples? Well...My most comfortable shoes would have to be my worn out hiking boots. My favorite weekend shirt? The denim button-up I stole from my husband.

Not convinced? No problem!

I've walked through a sloppy pig lot to water and feed. The water and feed weren't the hard part. Nope, the hard part was standing on one leg trying to figure out what to do once you lost a boot in the muck.

I've fed cows and milked them. Not to mention cleaning the barn after the cows vacated and I've watched dozens of calves being born.

The fondest memories I have of my childhood would be getting filthy making mud pies, walking in the rain down to the creek or even catching up with my Dad while wearing his rubber boots so we could (and I use the term "we" loosely) work on the swather. Or tractor. Or baler. Or....(this could go on forever).

But when we opened up the fan on our furnace today and found what's pictured below...well I think I'm going to re-think being prissy. Where the hell is my husband when I need him? Gone! Out of the country even. The email I sent him went a little something like this...

"So we found the problem with the furnace. The pictures attached are of the part that came out. (I didn't have time to set the date on the camera BTW.) Sounds like we might need a new one. Check out the photos and tell me what you think."

And how do you think the man responded?

"Wow. Cool."

Wow? Cool? I think for Christmas he must want a giant fly swatter to go with the lawn chair duct taped to the roof.

A poet I am not

A poet I am not but nonetheless I have written one anyway. Writing takes my abused emotions and turns them into triumph. How I have missed you, my muse.

Autoimmune

by A.E. Noble

A fool you are.

I cause you pain and disappear like the morning mist in sunlight whenever you seek out those with the white coats.

A fool you are.

Your cloudy mind is my friend. I love it as you love to sleep from my evils.
You are like a two year old who has skipped his nap. Ah, yes. Just the way I like you. The white coats ask you questions about me but you can not remember the key to their riddles. And thus they stay ignorant of my ways.

A fool you are.

You worry for your money clip. He shrinks ever smaller as the bills roll in from the white coats.
You visit them less and less. You are afraid. What if they tell you your deepest and darkest fear? The one you speak to no one. That your brain has tricked you, too.

A fool you are.

Your worry for your job as I increase your exhaustion. You press the buttons and pray the one you call boss accepts your many excuses. And I laugh at you. Why, you ask? Hahahaha! Your worry has caused a black desolation with you. The hopelessness continues as the blackness within causes more pain and fatigue.

A fool you are, I say. For you do not know yourself as well as I.