So, I guess they say that one of the main points of blogging is the ability to get stuff off your chest. And I can see where this is a good thing because if you let a bit too much pressure build up than you could go and make stupid decisions or do stupid things or perhaps simply start making mistakes that you cannot afford. But normally I do not think that this is what I use this recourse for. For me, it has been a place to sort of keep the flame burning over what happened in Poland with the idea that someday, somehow something will happen which will lift from me the burden that had been so unfairly on my shoulders some three years ago. That it hasn’t happened yet really sucks, but I am still in there trying.
But today, I simply want to fucking vent a bit because I am simply so fucking tired of having bad shit piled on me that I can’t fucking stand it any more. I know I have been speaking of that incident with the drunk lately but for today, as I have only an hour until my bus back to the village, I just thought I would use the time to rage a bit. Why am I so mad? Well, in no particular order:
I went to the farm yesterday and what did I find? My fucking pickles are dying. Do you know how many hours I put into that goddamned garden? And they had just gotten to the place where the pickles are starting to come in and the whole fucking garden gets hit with some horrible pickle bight and all of the leaves on all of the plants have started to turn yellow and die. Last year, when all was good we were taking from an equal sized garden about twenty kilos every two days. Now we are looking at maybe half that and we were only getting started. Now we have absolutely zero to sell because we won’t have enough to save for the winter. So that’s one thing. Um, is that funny to you? I just had the thought that maybe you read what I just wrote and you got like a chuckle from it or something. You know, like it is one of those kind of funny little moments…
Ok, fair enough. But that is not all that happened. You see I was up there to water the pickles and take what there were. So after spending a fantastic afternoon with my most beautiful 7-month-old daughter at the beach again, I rode my bike up to the farm, watered those same fucked up pickles and then settled down for a quiet evening of reading. The thought was that I would put in a full day of pulling weeds, water the pickles again and then ride home this evening. But this is not going to happen because last night while I was sleeping there was this big assed storm that came. I heard it when it started and at the time, all I thought was that it was kinda screwed that I took the time to water the pickles. But then, when I woke up this morning I walked outside and saw that the storm had uprooted and toppled over an old, 20-meter-tall and densely fruited pear tree. The son of a bitch was lying right out in the middle of the street, right on top of my fence, which it took the trouble to crush on its way down.
Now, the fruit from this tree, little half sized pears was never very tasty alone and even juiced had the effect of drying your mouth out. But for making wine, the tree was unparalleled. It yielded last year over 200 kilos of pears, which after being run through a juicer gave us a hell of a lot wine. So, aside from the pickles going bad, because we generally all like to drink fresh apple juice when we have it, lets just forget about 60% of the wine we would have had.
Actually, there were two trees that fell over last night. The other one was up the street from me and this one also both took down the power line, shutting down all the power in the village and also cutting our town stork’s nest in half as well. It was an awful moment for me when I first saw the damage. Their huge nest, maybe a meter and a half across was simply ripped in two. The sparrows who had also made their nests among the outer layers of branches if the eist’s nest were this morning flying in hysterical circles around the house nearby. Their homes, their nests and probably eggs were suddenly gone. All of their senses were telling them that they were home, but there was suddenly no home there any more. Storks, known here as Eists, are the national bird of Belarus and are really beautiful big black and white birds. The build their nests often on top of telephone or electrical poles and have a cool habit of cohabitating. We had three living up there, I do not know the sexual combination, and their fast staccato taka-taka-taka- beak banging was a part of the pastoral backdrop. Fantastic birds; I really hope they rebuild and stay.
Anyway, I had to take the bus back to town because I needed to pick up some gas for the chainsaw that will be needed to cut up the fallen tree. I took the bus because I did not like the idea of carrying gasoline on my back while I am riding a bike. And of course when I got here, Tatyana told me that the doctor had been here to look at Egor again. Accordng to her the doctors will not speak about taking his fucking tonsils out (If Tatyana is telling me the truth about this) but instead are putting him on an 8-day course of vitamins and antibiotics- don’t even ask about the cost- AND, of course, that the bug seems to have gotten into little Anya as well. Her throat is a little red now too.
Other than this, the only other thing in my life that is making think hard about playing tag with a train is that apparently, the cop who got us started on this whole bureaucratic deal in the first place is now telling us that he doesn’t think we will receive the document at this time. Why? According to him, Mr. Vassili Anonovich, our timing was bad because the USA just put a $32,000,000 bounty on Mr. Alexander Gregorovich Lukashenka’s head. Specifically, this money is to be an open donation to ANY oppositionist party’s potential presidential candidate’s war chest. Anonovich told us that in any other time; we should have had nothing to worry about. But at the moment and in response to Bush’s ‘jiad’, Lukashenka has been on TV exclaiming how American money is not needed, nor is their products, nor is their… uh… you know, American attitude. According to Anonovich, Lukashenka is contemplating closing the doors to all Americans because of this and therefore, I am sort of fucked. He suggested we wait a year. Thanks George. You’ve done it again. You’ve batted a thousand for me so far. Good to see you are still in there making the world safe for rich oil men.
I have not wanted to speak about this, but I guess I have now. I actually knew about this a few days ago and it was probably getting THAT hit that set me off about writing about that fucking drunk. Anyway, is this enough? Got the point? My life fucking sucks, is not getting better. And what is more, with a now crystal clear vision of my short term future in front of me, I see that the long term future of my people and especially my daughter actually have a great potential to get even worse. Still laughing? If you are: Fuck you.
And so if you will excuse me, I have to go and carry a five-liter jug of stinking, poisonous gasoline back to the village so I can cut a great tree into little chunks of fire wood. And, to carry this disgusting potential fire hazard, I am using a jug that would have been used to make some sweet wine to help celebrate the end of the season. So, if you will excuse me, I am off to the bus station so I can pay money I do not have to take shitty bus ride I didn’t want to do a job I won’t like just to keep a life I am not allowed to have, going.
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