Thursday: a Hint of Pain and a Subtle Fragrance of Rain

Here I am, after another sleepless night, with a swollen hand. On Tuesday, a tiny red ant bit me while I was weeding around the pumpkin patch. After the rabbits climbed over or dug under my garden fence and decimated my garden, the pumpkin patch was all I had left (I would assume they dug under, even though the kids and I piled rocks all around the base). And even that patch isn’t very large. The remaining four plants are the squashes that the nasty bunnies didn’t eat as tasty sprouts. It’s obvious the animal and insect world is out to get me. I mean, really–since when do rabbits rip out and carry off tomato plants?! Sixteen of them!!

One bitty ant, and my hand swelled up like a red balloon. On Wednesday, I woke to a mind filled with ideas for my Oso novella, but the pain of typing distracted me. I couldn’t concentrate. I forced myself to focus, anyway, and tried to write a scene in which Oso pulls out the bourbon to cope with his parents visiting. However, I realized I knew nothing about bourbon. Even if I researched the subject, I wouldn’t understand the nuanced differences between brands. I wouldn’t know what kind a stingy, entrepreneurial man would choose to spend his money on. So I asked a man I remembered as being a bourbon-crazy blogger. He answered me here: Nate Mail: Bourbon Matching. He’s very much the poet. It’s an enlightening answer, to say the least. Obviously, he gets the personality type.

As I said, here I am. It’s Thursday, and my hand is still swollen. My thumbnail throbs like I pounded it with a hammer. But I have work to do. My children are at camp, no doubt enjoying the July rain. How can I not work? I’m very curious about this bourbon–its poetic qualities might erase the pain in my hand. On the other hand (typing with it, anyway), due to a general lack of sleep the last several nights, any alcohol might knock me out. And it’s not yet eight in the morning. Aside from that, I can’t afford good bourbon. I’ll have to wait for evening to settle for my usual red, which is currently a California Cabernet. It’s a simple, yet complex wine with hints of cinnamon and blackberries. See? I have a super-taster, too. Normally, I wouldn’t use the term settle when referring to wine. It’s just that hard alcohols are better for inflammation-induced pain–brandy is the best, and I could wax poetic about that. But I’ll spare you.



    1. Going to bed when I should be working would be depressing. But it sounds lovely this morning. My hand is better, by the way.

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