You know what's great about these journals? It gives me the ability to say what I want, how I want.. And it feels like I'm still talking to myself. That's one of my bigger faults, getting out my true feelings, and this is certainly a useful medium for it. The mentality around journals being private, secret things just allows me to speak as I see it, without worry of others reading.
Even though they do. Yet it still works, so huzzah?
Current events? I know everyones' dying to hear about my day, and what happened, and if Sharyl is really having Don's baby, even while she's got amnesia. Let's get it all organized in my feeble brain..
..Hrmm.. alrighty. The Cabin.
I went into the thing totally unprepared, naturally, getting about three hours of sleep the night prior, before I was carted off into the deep hills. If you can find a place called "Kremmeling" in Colorado, you're close to that out of the way garden spot. The road in has names like 'Upper Valley', and 'Hell Hill', and such interesting, rock-laden jeep trails such as that. We didn't even get there until quite late, after we spent most of the day buying essentials. Bread, meat, eggs, chainsaws. The four main foodgroups.
My little brother has hit that "I'm independent, I don't need help" stage, which I think you go through twice. First at four, then at fourteen. Damnable evolution just amounts to a headache to me. He looks up to me for some reason I can't fathom, so I blame genetics again. I'm definitely not the greatest role model in existance. Sure, I don't smoke, don't drug out, don't skip school.. but if he emulates me, he'll find himself a lonely, sorrowful person in the end. S'where I'm headed, anyway.
Foreboding aside, we got through the mountain towns without being kidnapped by hermits, and went through gate after gate to reach the domicle. My grandfather doesn't stinch when he builds. The cabin's about thirty years old as I understand it, and could probably take a meteor collision. Even if the world around it was destroyed. Yes, a cabin floating in space, forever. Damn thing's probably airtight, for all I know.
We had to get the water turned on, of course. (Oh, of COURSE!) So we strolled through the pitch blackness, and found the supply, a steel barrel driven into the dirt next to a stream. The ground around it was filled with gravel, so we got some nice filtration, even. It was bone-dry, of course. We spent awhile moving rocks and diverting the stream nearby, which like everything water-based around here, was getting low. We passed the reservoir that supplies Denver earlier that day. It reminded me of the Grand Canyon. The water was so low, islands in the middle of the lake were now just a walk through damp sand from shore. Sobering image.
I had to climb down into that damn well to get the right pipes covered and uncovered (Can't leave them open during the winter, or they crack with ice in them). Ancient spiders and a single cinderblock in the black muck at the bottom were my companions, before I could finally lift myself out. We diverted the stream with some creative moving of rocks, and dirt, and moved on to the next disaster.
The propane tank. Really only needed them for light, heat, and the stove, of course, but.. well, I like my luxuries. I had seen 'Gone in 60 Seconds', so I was a bit wary about messing with the thing. It turned out there was alot of air in the piping, so nothing turned on until we left the gas on awhile. I kept getting images of the cabin's roof lifting off in a fiery eruption, but no such luck. Bedtime, finally.
The next morning, I had far too many eggs, hashbrowns, and bacon. I didn't get to cook, something I accel at, on occasion, but no complaints. I didn't really need SIX eggs, though. Gah.
Down to business, we broke out the new toy, a heavy duty chainsaw with a 20' blade (Size does matter, apparantly). I learned more about them then I would need to, barring a string of messy murders, but I gained a newfound respect for Ash, Housewares.
Woodchips flew everywhere, ants came boiling out of rotted wood, and we likely scared a few fish in the nearby river. Some beavers in that river had had their dam destroyed by some errant hillbillys, a few years earlier. They had built another one in nearly the same spot, we discovered. I was pleasantly amused. I'm actually quite handy with a 'saw, apparantly, as I went through a downed tree easily enough. Logs for the campfire were easily dispatched, and I went to tackle a nearby stump.
God, what a bad idea that was. Hard, dry wood met me, along with an ant nest near the base. Three cuts were all I needed, but I had to refill the gas and chain oil twice before that thing went down. Lunchtime, and the heat was getting bad.
So what do we do? Go after this tall, leaning tree, right next to the cabin. Unlikely it'd fall in the next hundred years, but it was more then mostly dead anyway, and looked unsightly. Triangle cut on the side I wanted it to fall on, and I handed the 'saw to my younger sibling, with a 'you gonna cut this thing down or not'? I -try- to be a good older brother sometimes.
He went for a straight horizontal cut, and the weight of the tree suddenly came down on the chainsaw blade. He tried to rev the thing again, but I avoided that disaster by turning the thing off. We tried pushing the tree over, but no such luck. Our spare chainsaw came into play, then, and we managed to get the weight off the big one long enough to extract it.
We pushed that thing down with the jeep's front bumper, as I recall. It just did NOT want to fall. Made a god awful racket when it fell over, too. Branches everywhere. At least I was in the jeep when it went.
We made it out reasonably early, all of us exhausted, and back to the city. It'd started raining, which was bad, considering our way out's namesake of 'Hell Hill'. When that thing is dry, it's still greasy. When it's wet, you can't even stand up on it. So we booked it. I didn't forget my keys, at least.
Back to the world of showers, relaxation, and no fucking mesquitos. Back into AODrama, the annoyance that seems to never go away. I sort of wish people would learn that, in the online world, this rule applies: 'If you want someone to not exist, just ignore them.' Catch-all solution, isn't it? I would make it the rule, but naturally, noone listens to the guy with the goofy alias.