Fat Bunny

  • How do you eat an Elephant?

    According to the old saying its one bite at a time. I’m trying to embrace that journey of a thousand miles begins with a single elephant sandwich mentality for the farm. I have got some of the first bites out of the way, scrap guy slowly doing his thing, and the goat guy dropping of an army of eating machines next week. I’ve sold off most of the farmhouse furniture, and the wood burning stoves. One of my cousins wants the stained glass so I’ll organize for them to come and collect those soon.

    As you may have guessed I’m still in the tear things down stage, and probably will be for a few months. There is a lot to prune back, literally and metaphorically.

    First big project is getting a water supply organized. The old tanks and systems where falling apart years ago, and six months without my fathers constant maintenance means they have totally failed. I’m now at youtube-eversity learning about water harvesting, tanks, pumps, and plumbing. Most of the stuff seems like common sense, and people have been getting water from the sky for quite a long time, so how hard can it be?

    I did get a quote for a system and design done by a local water contractor, but it was expensive and illogical. He wanted to spend thousands on groundwork to put a large tank up the hill because then the house could have gravity water pressure. His plans involved so much extra piping and excavation to avoid a small inexpensive water pressure pump that I knew I needed to figure stuff out for myself. From what I can see so far his $30000 quote was about twice what I could get for a system twice the size and five times more practical… if I do say so myself.

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  • Long Weekend…

    Pretty sure Friday was six weeks ago, I’ve certainly chewed through slightly more valium than usual. It really should be against some medical oath to tell a patient to make an appointment to “discuss” test results, and then bugger off for a week. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned my close personal relationship with catastrophizing to him.

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  • Not my First Rodeo…

    Every year my father didn’t attend the local annual rodeo. Even though it was 500m down the road from the farm, and pretty much the only event on the village calendar. I feel like I should continue this fine family tradition by also not attending not attending this weekend.

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  • Standby Mode…

    Do you ever just shut down for a bit? Sometimes when I’m just not up to dealing with things I just pull up the blinds to shield those around me from what’s going on inside.

    Today was a shut down day. I took a book and my iPad and went to bed. I didn’t end up reading or watching anything, I just pulled a blanket over my head and used zero energy on anything, even my brain mercifully slowed right down for a few hours, which is unusual enough to celebrate. I’m now back to a point where I can put my functional human mask back on if needed, which is a level I have to maintain as the “grownup” in the house. I always seem to have just enough left in the tank to do the bare minimum of parenting even when everything is else is falling apart.

    Luckily the kids are being fairly low maintenance at the moment, and the ex is having them at her house this weekend. So if I can’t shake this malaise it might just be a weekend of sitting around in standby mode, burning the least amount of energy possible, waiting for someone to plug me in, or switch me off.

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  • Hearts…

    Unlucky in love? Nah, It’s more like cursed for all eternity by opening a tomb protected by ancient incantations and blood sacrifices. It’s like a black cat crossed my path as I was walking under a ladder smashing mirrors and spilling salt everywhere. I seem to have an uncanny ability to meet people that bring out the worst in me.

    Or maybe I bring out the worst in them? Either way it’s exhausting, and I get less willing to do it all again each time. I’m also increasingly content with my own company most of the time, a good book is always better than a bad date. Perhaps I just ran out of romance at some point? My hopeless romantic heart took a hell of beating over the years, and I’m not sure it’s working anymore.

    There is a chance I’m just tired and grumpy, but it’s been a while now and you do start to think this is who I am now. The hopeless romantic is now just hopeless, his romance tempered by time into something more practical, but also not able to accept settling just to avoid being alone. Humans are complicated and annoying most of time, I’d drop 20 IQ points gladly to be less aware of the complications.

    Maybe I should just get a puppy…

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  • Just for the Record…

    I was looking for a particular record to play this morning. 45 minutes later I wasn’t in the mood to listen to it. My record collection has become a collection, it serves no purpose other that taking up space. There is perhaps 200 records I play, of those maybe 50-80 I play regularly, and of those maybe 20 I would hate to part with.

    That leaves approximately 800 records that just provide a point of friction between my desire to hear something, and actually dropping the needle. Now I could sort the albums by artist, or genre, alphabetical, decade etc. but what I’m going to do is choose the 200 I want to keep (50 per each wood crate), and box the rest up and sell them, either to a dealer, or through an auction house.

    The first pass sort will be the easiest, that’s just all the jazz, weird stuff, 70s rock. Then doubles can go, or triples in some cases.

    Two full boxes and I haven’t even had to make a slightly difficult decision yet. 150 down 550 to go. I’m going to try for one more box tonight, and the rest tomorrow.

    I’m sure someone will appreciate some of the rarer stuff in there, records are made round to go round.

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  • Not So Fast…

    I won’t be making any decisions about 2023 until I have taken it for a good long test drive. I’m going to be using the full 100 day love it or return it free offer. I’ve been burned before so I’m keeping the receipt.

    If anyone needs me I’ll be out the back with 2022…

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  • Shhhh…

    Let’s not tip the year off that it’s almost over, because we don’t want to give it chance to do something else horrible before midnight. I’d like to think next year will be better, but it’s been on a fairly horrid downhill trajectory since at least 2016. I’m not saying that David Bowie dying somehow broke the timeline, but…

    Luckily I’m still in denial about most of the truly awful stuff that happened this year, and there is a pretty good chance I can keep it during at least the next 6-12 months without becoming a raging alcoholic or addicted to benzodiazepines. And of course I’ve been blessed with a long family history of swinging from the rope of gallows humour in the darkest of times. Saying inappropriate things to make each other laugh is dad did it, and it’s how I do it. It may not be healthy but it’s what he taught me to do.

    So I might allow myself a moment of quiet reflection later tonight raise a glass and curse the year. I might start the new year with a bit of Bowie on the turntable, maybe that will break the evil spell? And even if it doesn’t playing my fathers Bowie records is still something that makes me feel closer to him for a while. He loved Bowie, and he loved that I grew up to Bowie.

    Planet Earth is blue, and there’s nothing I can do…

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  • Head Cleaner…

    There’s nothing quite like a 600km round trip with half a dozen Ministry of Sound dance albums to clear your head. Even more so on winding roads in a car with a hair trigger for an accelerator. Driving seems to occupy just enough of the cognitive functions of my brain to allow me to think, but not overthink.

    I’m at peace now with keeping the farm for a few years. My emotions about it will catch up with the practicality soon enough… and I’m going to buy a small tractor mower thing, because I think it will be fun to drive around cutting grass while blaring emo music. Maybe I should get in on the goth/farming tiktok thing?

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  • F.I.N.E…

    I am, and then I’m not. Every time I go to farm I’m convinced I’m getting better, and it’s no too bad this time… then a few hours later I’m a drained mess trying to avoid closing my eyes because of the flashbacks. Maybe I stood in the wrong room too long? Maybe it’s the knowing that I’m going to be keeping the farm for a few years now has removed the comforting thought of running away. Because I do like to runaway from a problem when I get the opportunity. Maybe I’m worried about failing, or just the sheer enormity of the job. I’m pretty sure I wish I was in a position not to have to maximize the income from the farm, but I’m not and I will not get the opportunity to set myself up like this is again. Sometimes you only get one bite at the cherry.

    So I will push on. Hopefully my health improves, or at least doesn’t get worse… mind and body. The body part is at least under the care of a doctor or two, and with a bit of luck all these tests that are doing a wonderful job of ruling things out, might actually identify something they can try and fix. On the mind front I’ll keep pushing through, I’m sure at some point I’ll stop being upset by random stuff, and just be set off by stuff that actually makes sense to be triggered by. Today while I was out at the farm going over plans to pull out all the electrical work, I found my fathers old fox hunting whistle.

    Fox Whistle…

    Suddenly I’m flooded with not only memories of my father, but of his brothers, my grandfather, and my childhood. Family wood collecting trips, the adults hunting foxes, my cousins and I making fires and cooking damper. Memories of the tacked out fox pelts in the sheds, that smell will never leave me. I’m not a hunter, I don’t like guns… but this fox whistle will hang on the hook near my bed, next to the chain that has my stepmothers wedding ring that my father wore after her death from cancer at the age of 49. He never got over it, and he never recovered from the trauma of those last few months of her life. So I know at some point I need to see someone, but I’m not up to it yet.

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