Just so we're clear, sleeping on the floor was the worst idea I ever had. Even worse then the time I drank all that Southern Comfort and then thought it would be cool to get on the bus.*
By the time morning had reared it's grim head we both looked like clockwork zombies** that had just recently risen from the grave. Scott was yelling shit about how his legs felt broken and he might never walk again and I felt like somebody had just punched me between the shoulder blades and then tried to sever my right arm. Possibly also by punching.
I mean, it's not like we had anything to do that day, like oh I don't know, take the propane tanks off my other mobile home cut more of the trees blocking the drive and desperately try to replace the blower motor on the wood stove before the propane runs out and we were fucked. I mean, it's not like we had that to do or anything.
Well the first order of the day was to dig out the cars and replace the blower motor on the wood stove. So while Scott went to replace the motor I went to shovel out the car and the truck. I will say right now that shoveling wet snow that weighs a shit ton after sleeping on the floor all night in the cold was the most painful thing ever, or at least it was until chunks of ice started falling off the trees and hitting me.
You ever been hit with a chunk of ice in the boob? Wouldn't recommend it.
After I had removed most of the snow Scott comes around and tells me he needs a hand with the stove. Now what you have to understand is that my dad built the surround for the current blower motor. A surround which, as we learned, was impossible to remove. Or at least it was before I got the motherfucking tin snips. The good news is I only cut myself five times!
Let me just say that it was an adventure.
Once I had vanquished the evil duct work surround monster it was merely a game of wrestling the new one in place and wiring it up.
Luckily while we were busy getting cut the fuck up our neighbors had taken a tractor our and were busy clearing the rest of the trees off the road. They were then followed by the road crew who got all the ones we couldn't get, including part of that fucker at the end of the drive. They were in turn followed by the plow.
At the end of the day the road looked like this:
|WV at it's finest.|
However, instead of revealing in our new found road we had to immediately turn about and prepare to drag the propane tanks over. The propane tanks that hate us. Deeply. First off each one had to be disconnected and hauled onto a sled. Then I would pull the sled and and Scott would fight to keep the bastard upright as we fought our way up and down slopes and over ditches. I did learn something by the second one though. Namely that my arms would never forgive me. At last we hooked up the tanks to our backup propane heater, fired up the wood stove and proceeded to make it 75 inside.
We promptly rewarded ourselves by melting snow over the stove and taking sponge baths while joking about making Little House on the Prairie style Ma Ingall porn. We're not right, really. Then I drank like five vodka cocos (possibly to wash the aforementioned image out of my mind) and started making all kinds of weird statements like “In soviet Russia, vodka coco drink you” and “In old country it used to snow, all the time, but we were never sad, for we had vodka. And coco. Together.”
And then I went to bed and slept like the dead and woke up with a motherfucking hangover. There is a lesson in here somewhere.
And I think that lesson is, don't sleep in the floor.
*Yeah. Never do that by the way.