My Shed is Filling me with Hatred.

Today was super productive. Oh wait, I'm sorry, I should have said that the first half of today was super productive. The first half of the day, we went around and collected all the firewood we had cut. Then Scott chopped when it needed it and we stacked it and tarped it. It took two hours. That part was fine.

Then Scott was all like, oh I need to change oil on the truck. So we started that and that's when everything went to hell in a poop basket.

It turns out that we needed this tool, this tool that I still don't know the name for that Scott had to draw me a picture of. Which meant that we had to search the shed for it.

Cue that sound of a record being stopped.

The shed in an unholy pit made out of lack of organization and never throwing anything away. Let me explain. It was first my dad's shed and he as far as I can tell, kept everything. Every bolt, every screw, every washer, every nut, every strap and every bit of anything he ever took apart. After about half an hour we came to conclusion that we were never going to find it.

First off none of the drawers in any of the big rolling tool boxes had labels, which for me meant repeatedly opening drawers only to realize that I had already searched them. Or when I would find a tool out in the open, being unable to locate where it should go. At this point I realize that we are going to have to clean the shed.

About that point Scott left for town.

And I discovered a very important thing. I cannot clean and reorganize an area if I have no idea what the things I am looking at are. I found things. Things I had no name for. Things that did not exist to me before now. And of course being home alone, I had no one to ask. So after awhile I kept coming up at dead ends. Here's how it would go. I would put all extension cords together, only to discover that there were three or four more hiding around the place. Then I would have to pull out the others I had stored because now they won't all fit. Then I have to find another place for all them and I end up throwing them all out into the driveway. Same thing with the rope.

I found a bunch of random ass shit, but I had no idea if I should throw it away like: three arrows with no tips. Two nozzles? I think they were nozzles. About a billion little things that go into making electrical work. Or circuit boards. Not too sure on that one. About ten chains in various states of rusting. Fishing stuff in a cloth sack. Something that looked like a lighter before people knew how to make lighters. A bunch of padlocks and a coffee can that was fill of binder clips.

About this point I started to feel the grim icy grip of defeat on me. Oh, did I mention that the shed was freezing cold despite it being warm today? So cold that my hands ached the whole time I was working in there? Yeah, that shed was as cold as a witches tit.

Do you also recall Holly's theory that all the buildings with no foundations are sinking into the earth like Miss Brisby's house in the Rat's of NIMH? Yeah. This is after I had to take a shovel to get both shed doors open to ninety degrees.

So after a while I realized that the sun was going down. Which meant that project time was over for the day. So I shoved all the shit I had piled up outside into any cardboard box within reach and then shoved it back into the shed just as Scott was pulling up. Even now, I can feel that laughter of that shed, secure in it's knowledge that I will never come back for it. It knows that cleaning it out will take precious time from other projects, it know of my deep inability to organize things that I have no knowledge of, it knows if it's own icy depths. Oh it knows. It thinks it's above my caring. It thinks this token attempt is all it will see.

It thinks it has won.

But it has not. Tomorrow I will summon my army of trash bags and I will fight. DO YOU HEAR THAT SHED! THIS ISN'T OVER YOU BASTARD MOTHERFUCKER!

I'll get that shed, if it's the last thing I ever do.