As I look over my vast acreage of crops (i.e. a couple of tiny windowsills where I just sowed some mixed lettuce seeds) I like to imagine I’m a farmer, plowing my fields with my horse-drawn tractor, putting in a good day’s work, then eating E’s hearty meal of mac’n’cheese (organic), kidney bean chili, and salad.
Well, the food part is true, anyway. (We’re a great culinary team: I order, and she creates!) Now if only the working it off part were true. One can be delusional in a good way, if it doesn’t hurt anybody (not going there today). I’m pretending I’m gardening in winter. My vast fields await.
Back at reality, we’re already visualizing our smallish gardens of vegetables and flowers in our future home that we don’t even have yet. That’s called thinking long term, a concept that is foreign to certain self-centered infants whom I won’t mention.
I have to hand it to E, who somehow has the intestinal fortitude to listen to that person speak, albeit for very limited sessions for sanity’s sake. (“The enemy you know…” and all that.) Myself, I can’t even bring myself to listen to that trash for a minute, or I gag.
But I’m determined not to dignify the aforementioned creature by ranting today. There will be plenty of other days and rants, you can be sure. But today I’m busy laboring in my mental croplands (“mental” being the key word there) in my picturesque pastoral utopia that the evil bastards can’t destroy. ;D