I’m not complaining. I have it good. I don’t work in a mine. I don’t work at a trash dump. I don’t clean toilets. Well, err, ummm. I like what I do. I cook, I make things look fabulous. I take care of a baby lamb that runs up to me whenever he sees me. Life is good. But this girl is tired! I’m sleepy. I drink Diet Coke – and not the can either, but by the liter. (Oh, I’m Euro chic in my metric system!)
We’ve had guests the whole week! We’ve been waiting for a baby llama to be born! We have ducks that are demanding more space. Quaking divas! Like they’re Kate Middleton in the Windsor vault!
I’ve learned, when you get tired you forget things. I drove all the way to the grocery store today without a wallet. But I also learned you can take afternoon naps, while the Waltons are on T.V. There is little better than half-listening to Johnboy experiencing a valuable Appalachian life lesson. Today he had a crush on his teacher and was jealous of the local preacher who was courting her. He came to terms with it. Like me and my aggressive llama. We’re learning to work together. We’re frenemies.
B&B’s can tire you out. So many people say when they retire they want to open a B&B. Ladies and gents, you insane. When I’m retired, I best be on a beach smelling the salty spray as it brushes my face. I’m not waking up at 6…a.m. that is…and cooking muffins at 11…p.m. that is. But I’m here, (and if you’ve read this blog) I’m queer, and I’m getting used to it…the B&B that is. I won’t be broke but not poor forever. Olympic champion horses are broke before they jump 7 foot fences. And our own Wally has even started to calm down. But he’s on Paxil. I don’t need to go that far. My Franzia does the trick. For now.