Several weeks ago I wrote up a woodpile report. It had been a bad week with standard blues music luck and excessive general consternation. The post was 666 words of black depression. Who needs that? I decided not to post it.
Here’s a much shorter (but just as accurate) version:
Hot humid weather… tough working conditions… Blah blah blah…
Lined up help. Help bailed. Woe is me.
Plenty of wind-thrown wood. Big mess. Logs on the ground. Some logs bucked up, some not, some split, some not. Man I’m tired.
Crivens! I kicked meself in ma ain heid!
Arm injured but not seriously. Blah blah blah…
No wood split or stacked. Blah blah blah…
Beer.