I committed yesterday to post one post a day for the next 30 days. But time is not on my side today.
So what do I do? Get into the drafts and pull out one of my starts and try to fudge it?
I can’t do that. I am a perfectionist, and it gets in the way of productivity.
I know the first thing I’ll do is pull up a draft, re-read it. Hate it, or at least not like it very much.
Too wordy. Too condescending. Too bossy. Too much information.
Which would cause me to delete and start again.
So I’m back to the drawing board with not much time to post something. ANYTHING, to keep my promise to myself.
Ok, so, I’m gonna tell you about what happened to me this morning when I grabbed an Opposum by the ass.
It was 4 am, the time I normally get up. I had big plans for the day, which included burning the boxes that had accumulated in our mudroom.
There was enough light cascading into the mudroom from the barn light so I could see enough to gather the boxes without turning on the overhead light.
I had three or four soda can boxes in my right arm when I reached down to pick up another one with my left hand, but it was heavy.
“Oh,” I thought. “I thought they drank all the soda.”
I reach down again to see what’s in the box. As my hand reaches the opening of the box, I felt something warm and soft.
I stood up, still not registering what was in the box.
What could it be? Did someone stuff a sweater in there?
I bent down again and squeezed harder, only to realize it was an animal. The hip of a soft, warm creature.
Freaking the complete-frick out, I jumped up, turned on the light, and saw the greasy grey hair of a critter sticking out of the top opening of the soda box.
I was grabbing the rump of an opossum!
Someone left the mudroom door ajar yesterday, and this guy apparently decided to come in and sleep in a soda box for the night.
I, of course, turned into a stark raving lunatic, running around washing my hands with every solvent I could find.
Laughing and crying at the same time. Completely hysterical.
I may have done a little hyperventilating too.
My husband, who has been laid up with a bum back, came hobbling out to save me. Big eye roll here.
Needless to say, we regained our composure and were able to roll the box out the door onto the ground, where the possum continued to hang out, still in his cardboard sleeping bag for a good hour. Finally, it was gone.
I’ve heard that Opossum’s pass out when frightened. Probably where the whole “playing ‘possum” thing came about.
The joys and excitement of living on a farm! Critters in the soda box.
K.L. Bennett is a mother of 6 awesome males, music lover, photographer, avid reader, autodidact, Ninja Writer, Taurus in menopause, trauma survivor, seeker of peace.