Enjoying Leave Before I Leave
Everyone seemed to enjoy my inebriated half-post concerning my barbecued rib exploit the other night. This one – yet another annoying ‘inbox’ entry for you subscribers – is less inebriated but nonetheless along the same maudlin lines. Yeah, lots of big words from Rants. Epic, huh?
No, no sappy updates or tearful reminicences. This is a straight-up report of my exhausting afternoon. After doing some light packing (because only Rants can make packing one-half of a duffle bag into a three-month ordeal), I felt nervous. Edgy. Like there was something not quite right. Sure enough, I went out back and cracked my first Coors and BAM! MOTHERFUCKER!, the yard needed mowed.
Yep, I mowed. And edged. And used the blower thingy that almost knocks me over on full power. Observing the errant dandelion probes seeking the sun, and the leafier material growing in the lawn where leafy shit ought not grow, mowing was not anything to be avoided. I donned my best and finest Carl Spackler (Caddyshack, since so many of you missed it last inference) gear for the last time in what will become more than a year, and set to the task(s).
I noted that come hell or high water, that poor overworked mower has to be torn down and cleaned and tuned when I get back, no excuses. It has likely mowed the eqivalent of an entire Rhode Island (776,957 acres, or 1,214 square miles)(No, I’m not kidding) without even a new spark plug, and the wheels are more wobbly than they are functional in a planar motion of rotation. Which is nerd-speak for, “They’re all fucked up.”
I managed to not injure myself or others, which is rare. Overall, it was a tiring, sweaty, and not-beer-supplied-enough experience. However, the lawn looks awesome right now. I even hosed down the sidewalks (hoping they grow into parking lots someday), which will guarantee a good, Kansas rainstorm… possibly severe.
Truth is, getting this close to leaving (Friday), I’m nervous, edgy and tense. And that encompasses a bit more than just the deployment thing, which having been there and done that (and owning a tee shirt – no shit), I’m an old hand at. I’ve always been able to successfully expend my pent-up stress – always over things I overthink yet cannot control – through killing myself, if only just a little bit.
The salient point here is that instead of unpacking my duffle again and rechecking my list, I opted to just expend my energy in something physical. Now I can pop another beer and survey my handiwork in peace, and then eat a burrito, shower, strap my CPAP on and sleep my ass off until tomorrow.
Introspective enough for you? Sadly, Bill Murray is still prettier than me.