DRENCHED

Rain
Rain
Rain rain rain.
Not the possibility of rain
Nor the probability of rain.
Always positively rain.
Rain positively
Every day every night
Every week every month
Forever and ever.

This isn't a poem. It's a frustrated emphasis.
This isn't a complaint. It's a creative observation of the astounding complexities of Mother Nature. Or Father Nature, as my biased and unconventional gender orientation dares to perceive.

I once said that it rains 350 days a year in Tennessee. That was, of course, an exaggeration. In reality, it rains about 320 days a year here.

I'm completely out of supplies and desperately need to drive to town. I tried to go on Tuesday but the torrential rain was somewhat of a deterrent.  Narrow, winding mountain roads and biblical downpours don't mix.

I finally decided on Wednesday morning, because rain wasn't expected until late Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday dawned with ominous clouds and steady rain that increased with morbid intensity through each creeping hour.

Thursday (that's today, I'm assuming) was the worst day yet. Severe storms at dawn, high winds, endless downpours, and hail.

Heavy rain and hail this morning
baptizing the back yard

Pouring rain all day -
as if things weren't green enough

 (Blogger refused to center this caption)

Friday is still left, but I have absolutely no optimism for a rain-free day. It would be far too much to ask.

As for me, I didn't sleep at all last night. I'm brain-dead. Nothing more than the shadow of a zombie.
I should probably crawl into bed and cover my head. In the morning I'll send out a dove and hope he'll eventually return with an olive branch.
Rainbow covenant.

I'm hesitant to post this, because it's absolute crap. That's why I delete so many of my blog posts.

BTW-
many thanks to the discerning people who appreciated my Civil War music......

THE SUN AIN'T SHININ' TODAY

Caution: a few delicate souls might take offense at some of my words. 

Let me be blunt (as if I never was.....) -
Living alone in the wilderness isn't exactly as wonderful as I make it sound. Don't be duped by my photos of the beautiful forest and the adorable 'possums eating bread. That's the Disney version. The reality version is a cross between Tobacco Road and Deliverance.

I won't mention the minor annoyances - like having to drive 500 miles (slight exaggeration) on a perilous road to get to town, or having to trek 10 miles (very slight exaggeration) to get to my damn mailbox....

.......or the fact that there's no trash pickup and no radio reception. I won't mention the wild animals that are nesting under the house and scrambling on the roof - - or the mice in the walls....

.....or the intense dampness that renders everything into a soggy mush, or the millions of summer insects that descend like the plagues of Egypt - or the coyotes that surround the house and practice their death howls at 3:00 am.....

....or the relentless rain that pours incessantly with an enthusiasm of Biblical proportions.
So, how wet is it in Tennessee?
It's wetter than Chris Christie's armpits. 
It's wetter than the Sport's Illustrated Swimsuit issue.

Don't groan. I never claimed to be a comedian.

When I lived in West Texas it was the wind. I had to plan my entire agenda around windstorms. I only ventured out on days when the wind was under 65 MPH.

Here in Daniel Boone country, it's the rain. My entire life revolves around rainstorms and the minuscule hope that a ray of sunshine might appear.

I had planned on going to town today. Naturally, severe storms were predicted. I hoped against hope that the forecast would be wrong.

I got dressed at dawn - with the insane assumption that if I went early I'd beat the bad weather. I piled big bags of trash in the car (to take to the dump).

Then I turned on the radio to hear the weather. I can only get two stations out here in the boonies, and one is from Kentucky. The Kentucky announcer (who has an annoyingly whiny voice and sounds like he's twelve years old) read the obituaries for 40 long minutes.

What the hell is the deal with all the deaths in Hillbillyland? There are more friggin' stiffs here than in Bangladesh.

I was finally able to zero in on the local station. We were under a Severe Storm Warning......and a Tornado Watch. 

That put the kibosh on my trip to town. I have to be heavily sedated when I drive to town on a sunny day. There's no way in hell I'm going in a hurricane.

I need supplies desperately, but it'll have to wait. I'm out of milk, bread, eggs, cat litter, and toilet paper.
Warning:
Ladies  and all sensitive people, please hold your ears.

I can't live without toilet paper.
Did you ever try to wipe your  ***  with a paper towel? 

Also -
my cell phone isn't working (again) - just when I might need it.

Even though it was starting to rain, I decided to drive to the mailbox - because every time it rains the contents get soaked.

When I got to the box, it was wide open. An envelope that I put in there five days ago (to be picked up by the mail carrier) was still there - completely drenched. It contained a very important check that was due yesterday.

As I drove back to the house I was uttering curse words that would make Madonna blush.

I know, this post is getting damn long - but I'm on a roll. A lousy roll - - but a roll nevertheless.

Let me explain that the weeds on my property are now the size of trees. I was a jackass to assume that the cold weather would kill them.

While I'm plowing through the weed trees, wishing I had a tractor (or a bulldozer) I suddenly got stuck in the mud. The wheels spin, the engine stalls, and the torrential downpour is accompanied by fierce, screaming winds and sharp lightning.

My house is uphill and I'm still very far from it. I get out and sink to my knees in mud. In seconds, I'm completely soaked.

Just to enhance the extent of my misery, I'll mention that I still have excruciating back pain from some spinal fractures that never properly healed.

I try to scrape some of the caked mud off the tires. I crawl back into the car and attempt to get the engine started - as it makes extremely alarming noises. I crawl back out to open the hood of the car, and in the process somehow manage to slam my right index finger in the car door.

And I'm thinking:
If there is a God, he probably fell off his throne laughing at me.

I'll never know how I finally managed to get the car back to the house, but it took a helluva long time and superhuman effort.

After I limped to the house, I literally had to peel my drenched, mud-covered clothes off on the back porch. When I opened the door to go in, the three cats gleefully darted out.

Picture this:
I'm stalking through a maze of tree-sized weeds, in a tumultuous downpour, wearing nothing but my skimpy Fruit of the Looms and a  mismatched pair of socks - - covered in mud and dripping wet, limping from my broken back, with a bloody and swollen index finger - while trying to round up three wayward cats.

Scratch and Bosco went back inside quickly. Scruffy - as usual - got under the back porch and I had to crawl in the mud to remove one of the panels so she could get out.

These were some of the highlights of my day.
It's presently near dusk and still extremely windy.
I'm gonna have a beer and go to bed.

If you happen to be flying by, drop me a few rolls of toilet paper.....and a couple bottles of Jim Beam.