I am sick of the cold. It was 10° F yesterday but a stiff wind brought the wind chill down to -25° F. The animals were miserable and so was I. I’m tired of cold, I’m tired of frozen fingers and feet, I’m tired of my nose dripping and eyes tearing in the wind, I’m tired of dark skies and digging out gates, I’m tired of bashing ice out of frozen water buckets. Tired, tired, tired!
On Tuesday the slaughterhouse told me they had no record of the appointment I’d booked last fall (over a year in advance!) for one bull and one steer next November. Yes, they had the appointments for lambs in September and pigs in October, but — scanning the pages — “Nothing for beef.” Now there are no openings left. I hung up the phone with a feeling of exhaustion. I haven’t even managed to get through this winter and I’m dreading next year’s, with a bull in the barn.
No lambs yet. I checked last night at 11 PM and again at 4 AM. On the second trip, snow had drifted deeply over the driveway and the truck floundered to a halt. “Don’t even think about it!” I snapped out loud. The truck obediently reversed and then lunged forward through the snow and made it down to the barn.
Tomorrow will mark three weeks since I sat down with O.B. to discuss the final work on the garage apartment. He estimated there was a week of work inside, and a week of work outside.
“So, two weeks and we’re done?” I said eagerly. I need to stop hemorrhaging money. I need this project to be finished.
“Call it three weeks. It always takes longer than you think.”
I stopped in yesterday to pick up the bills he has promised, over and over, to give me. He was not there. The bills were not there. It was difficult for me to see much progress made since three weeks ago, even on the inside. The outside has not been touched. I am so upset by the lack of communication that it is hard for me not to think about just shutting down the job.
Everyone tells me this is what contractors are like. But I’m running out of steam.