Well, I suppose I should feel refreshed. Reinvigorated. Reenergized, even. After a week of lifting not a pen or a finger toward fictional or non-fictional pursuits, I should be raring to go. Really. I should be pumped!
Color me non-pumped.
While the distance from writing I so lauded last week I still believe to be a necessary sin from time to time, the relaxation this is supposed to afford becomes rather stunted when soused wildlife become intimately involved.
During my time cabined in the mountains this last week, the following crashed my holiday…
1.) Drunk raccoon… The juvenile bandit helped himself to the beer and butter portions of my brother-in-law’s barbecuing pursuits. Half an hour later, I found the plastered raccoon sleeping it off on the roof outside the game room’s window. True story.
2.) Live skunk… While this little guy was only spotted down the road from our cabin, the tiny squirt is a bit of a concern when a certain four-legged furry muse must be walked in the vicinity. Thankfully, in the end, no tomato juice baths were required by any party.
3.) Midnight bear wrestling on the deck… I woke up to what sounded like a herd of buffalo marching up and down the deck outside my bedroom window. Being the brave sort that I am, I peeked out the curtains to find four bears visiting. A teenager and his three little sibling cubs had apparently slipped out of their mama’s den and decided to party at our cabin. After a raucous match of wrestling each other to the ground, up against the wall, and nearly through my door, the furry good-timers moved on to wider decks.
So, you see my problem.
No, do not fear the holiday, my friends. Fear the holiday-crashers.
Post-note: I kindly left out all description of Godzilla-sized spiders, monster truck-sized grasshoppers and any and all bats. No one should have to deal with such atrocities on a Sunday morning. You’re welcome.