Anyway, I cut it a little short, because I knew I had to go back out to the farm on Friday, and I wasn't feeling too hot. Went to bed, didn't even pick up my book, just passed out. Several hours of fucked-up dreams later, I was awake, and still not feeling good. On the way out, I remarked to Dianna that I didn't feel good, and part of me wished I'd just called and said I wasn't making it, but oh well...and with my luck, we'd be logging today. Ray picks me up, and tells me we're getting rid of an old tree today...and probably at least two others, maybe more. Yep, logging. Damn.
OK, get there and choke drag three logs that he cut down yesterday. Not too hard, other than schlepping chunks of it to the "to be bucked and split later" pile. Cut down the first tree,and start chopping branches off of it, which means a lot of carrying and dragging to the aforementioned pile or the burn pile. Halfway through this, the chainsaw just dies, no idea why. Secretly, I rejoiced. It was still early and I was already panting and wheezing; strength I got, endurance, well, not these days. Well, no more logging, good.
Back up the hill, Ray tells me to go pull three iron stakes out of the ground, around a willow that they had been helping to grow straight. Now, this is a iron post about 6 feet long, and it doesn't need to be driven but a foot into the ground. They seemed short when I got down there, but no big deal. Imagine my surprise when they simply would not pull up. I get a shovel and start digging the bitches out...and I'm getting nowhere (partly because I'm trying not to chop the roots of this tree all to Hell). Eventually, I get the first one out, which has been planted three fucking feet deep, a trend which continues to all three. Joy. Now I feel like shit and I'm sore and beat. And it's not even noon.
Ray's been eye-balling a dogwood tree that fell, on the lower property, and so we (he) decides we should go see what it'll take to get a choker on it and sledge it out in the open. Unfortunately, it's deep in the lower property, which is covered in wild blackberry vines. Dunno if you've ever dealt with that, but they grow completely wild, every which way, and are very thick and thorny. He goes looking for his little hand clippers, I mention that we should stop at the shop and get the machete. He goes on about how that doesn't work (which I suspect is partly right, it doesn't work well...for him), and, since he can't find his second pair of hand clippers, hands me a pair of tin snips. Sure, they'll work, but not well...*sigh*. We get down there and start sloooooowly cutting a trail into the growth. Find the tree, determine that we need to get back out and cut a new path in to it. This is even slower going due to thicker brush and vines, and, at one point, Ray manages to shove a handful of blackberry vines backwards, right into my crotch. He was handing it to me to pull out, and wasn't watching where he was shoving...but all I cared about at that moment was pulling blackberry thorns out of my scrotum. Oh yeah, fun times.
OK, that's finished, head into town to get some lunch. This is where I discover that my sunglasses have gone AWOL. Last I saw, I put them on the truck's dashboard, no telling where they fell out. Yeah, me, mister "the sunlight gives me a headache." Gonna have to get new ones, I guess. Get through lunch, trying my best not to bite my lip scar AGAIN and make it worse (yes, I've finally made a doc appointment to see if they can do something about it).
After lunch, Ray mentions that we're pretty much fucked until we get the chainsaw fixed, and, with nothing more to do, he could just run me home. Trying not to be an eager asshole, I mention that, yeah, if there's nothing else needs doing today, sure. Sadly, this is when he thinks that maybe we could go ahead and go pick up that load of cinder blocks he was promised by a guy he knows. Obviously, I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.
So, drive out in the middle of nowhere, Help Ray manoeuvre his truck through a tight squeeze to get it as close to the bricks as we can and start to lug these things. Now, a cinder block weighs, on average, 37 pounds (17 kg, for you metric types). Due to positioning and placement, we have to lug them up eight feet of incline, and THEN lift them into the bed of the truck. And did I mention there were 60 of them? Yeah, this was a fucking blast, lemme tell ya. Get them all in and arranged and drive back, where we get to unload them...at least that's all down, not up.
My day's finally over, eventually get home with dinner, stretch out in my recliner lamenting my out-of-shape-ness, finally get up to discover that my Internet is down. Completely. Well, so much for catching up on LJ, checking my e-mail, or getting any CoH time in. Yes, still don't feel good.
Get to bed, fall asleep reading, wake up at 6am, decide that is simply not fucking happening, wake back up at 7am and admit defeat, still don't feel great. Today I get to not only go grocery shopping, but hit the store for some shelves and drawers for Erik. Public interaction, eww.