Letters from The Field
This results in behavior that is less than appropriate for dignified people of The Field. The temper fuses seem all too short lately, even when one does simple things like, like breathing or eating. One doesn't seem to breathe right I suppose and the noise that comes from mastication only exacerbates the situation. The results seem to be that those within striking distance walk about in their hockey helmets.
Or this recent development in the blanket hogging war. One gets so hot in the night, and not in a good way I assure you, that one flings all coverings over to their mates side of the bed, and said mate is willing to take one for the team, bearing the brunt of the weight of the nocturnal coverings. Then upon waking in the morning is subject to accusatory glances and thinly veiled discourse and dramatic recreations of the nights blanket maneuvers. Sigh, war is indeed hell.
It seems this bit of humid/hot weather is scheduled to remain throughout the weekend and I'm beginning to wonder our little family may be down a member or two by then.
Oh and don't get me started on bulls that awaken you at 4 am doing their territorial shouting matches with other bulls in neighbouring fields, twenty feet from ones wide open window. Or the magpies that screech and squawk at 5 am sitting on the railing just outside your window. No, even nature takes a bad turn in this kind of inclimate weather. My first thoughts upon waking were of my need of a real gun. Well, my first thoughts were why are all the blankets on my side of the bed this morning, but indeed my second thoughts were of shooting things with guns.
And so, productivity takes a turn in times like this, which frustrates me as well. But the day is full and I need to be about the things I can control.
So until another better time dear reader, I remain sincerely yours.
From The Field.