Folks, it’s New Year’s day. I’ve got shit to do. I don’t have time to write the next part of the tractor saga. So I’ve decided to shorten the next part to just a paragraph. Ahem:
“If something isn’t working. And you’re pissed off. And you’re the kind of fellow that has a big chain and a truck… You might be thinking that the chain and truck will solve your problems. This is an excellent time to sip a nice cup of tea and then go to bed. You might even want to pour a fifth of whiskey in the tea. By all means it’s a wise idea to: Put. The. Chain. Down.”
Now I know what you’re thinking. No I didn’t flay myself to death. Nor did I leave truck or tractor in a smoking ruin. But I did look like an ignorant asshole trying to get that damned tractor running. Enough that my neighbors probably sat in lawn chairs with binoculars taking notes and gossiping. Fuck em! I am surprised that my wife, who drove the truck a few miles going back and forth for hours, is still speaking to me. In fact, she even had kind words and a pat on the back – I looked just that desperately pathetic.
The tractor did not run. It turned but didn’t fire or even hint that it ever had, would, or in any conceivable future universe might, run.
I parked it for another month. My lawn hadn’t been mowed in so long that it began to evolve opposable thumbs and the EPA started declaring it an official wilderness area.
I decided I’d rather be stacking firewood. I did well on the firewood front. (Today, in January, that seems like a good trade off.)