I chased a feeling of guilt yesterday. I was also sick.
Translation: Sick and tired.
Source: I dunna know.
Mind Changer: None.
I love to figure out why’s.
Checked my daily spiral notebook: It is early Friday. Mowed portions of the place prior to the tire changing appointment.
Went to the appointment..
While waiting, walked the hundred yards to the Greasy, talked for an hour and a half with Owner, the Blonde and various customers.
Results: Mixed. Finally forced a local, through logic, to admit to facts, obvious to me, that escape his awareness. But three sentences later he was evading the very admission by refusing to call a spade a spade, making excuses for bad behavior on the part of his neighbor, making the acts an attribute. Net loss.
Remain confused: If a person dislikes behavior, fails to tell a friend their behavior is reprehensible, is that person a friend or, an enabler and a non-friend? though not an enemy.
Tires changed: I’m now a 10 ply guy.
Noon: Feeling puny. Put off the planned trip to the artsy show. Suspect the puny related to the Greasy’s coffee – not, possibly, to the conversation.
Returned Home: Under took more mowing. Slide the ))*^% mower into the deepest part of the bar ditch. Feeling slightly more than puny. Try sick. Cranked up the tractor – before doing that had to air up the front tire which the Co-Op repaired the week before. Noticed that I had installed the tire wrong side out when I had re-installed it after the Co-Op repaired it, after I had taken, not the tractor, but the tire to them.
Conclusion: I’ve been sick before, though I wasn’t aware I’m mentally deficient. Perhaps my friend was less than candid when my behavior was reprehensible.
Action: Hoisted the mower from the bar ditch with the loader. Dragged the sucker to level ground. It still started. Noticed the mowers left front tire is flat. Took the mower to the shop. Aired the tire. Started the mower. Mowed with it. Something wrong with the blade deck.
Investigated: The mower deck. Bent. Whether from the tumble into the bar ditch or the resurrection unknown. Only the puppy mows bare ground left, three inches high right.
My illness justified a nap.
Gas, heart burn, burps, general feeling of malaise.
Quite possibly a heart attack resulting from high blood pressure brought on by bad language, evil thoughts and sore knuckles, the result of hitting the work shop studding with my fist – I was carrying my gloves in the other hand, I should have been wearing them.
Elapsed time from rising to nap: Twelve hours, thirty-two minutes, it still mid afternoon. Too bad, that.
Saturday: I close my spiral note book on yesterday’s review as I feel a mild return of gas.
Reproach-ment: The mower waits my pleasure in the work shop this morning.
From the reaches,