When Paradise Becomes Purgatory

So to alleviate the concern that was voiced by many of you, I have not yet gone full-on “Shining” and started stalking the neighborhood with an axe. However, for much of the last two weeks, I have been lying on the couch, unshowered with my hair held back by a chip clip, watching back to back to back reruns of Criminal Minds; eating anything and everything labeled "salted caramel"; drinking cheap red wine straight out of the bottle; and writing haikus, like:

I wander the woods,
Searching for the perfect tree,
To hang myself from.

I’m fully aware that I probably won’t get much sympathy. After all, I get to live on a lake full time with a loving husband while pursuing my dream of becoming a writer. Seems damn near perfect…right? Wrong. There’s a whole lot about living on Bohemian Bay that sucks slippery catfish balls. Alright, I don’t know if catfish have balls, but I do know that I am ready to go on a guilt-free rant. Tomorrow, I’ll count my blessings, embrace life’s lessons, and make a list of all the things I’m grateful for. But today, I will list all the shit that is bringing m down and pissing me off.

1) This lake is owned by KU, which means they can do whatever the hell they want with it. Currently, they have decided to drop the water level one foot per day, which translates to three feet on land meaning we are having to build a new set of stairs every 48 hours.

2) The safety rails can’t keep up with the step construction, so going up and down them is fricking terrifying.

3) At 720 feet, we technically could hit bottom, and then will have to find a place to move our house for the winter.

4) What used to be a lush, green shoreline now looks like Mordor. And, especially at night, is creepy as all get out and dangerous to traverse, so I am worried to death about the dogs.

5) On that topic, if God forbid, something happened to one of the dogs or us, the only way out is Satan’s Stairs since both pontoons are currently out of commission and in the shop getting fixed, which ain’t cheap.

6) The solitary path to civilization includes said Satan’s Stairs—at last count 160—then a steep rock trail, then a winding mulch path to a gravel driveway. Long and unfriendly describes it best. 

7)  I use the word civilization loosely, unless I want to head all the way to Danville, there is only the Village Inn restaurant or Dollar General store.

8) When I do get to town to fetch my sundries and such, I have to haul them all the way back down the hill—bag by bag.

9) Frank works about sixty hours a week, so I’m alone the majority of the time.

10) Normally, I would compensate by connecting on social media but there is no high-speed internet, and one can only stand so much buffering before they spontaneously combust. Scientific fact.

11)  Why not just give someone a call? In order to do so, I have to sit in one certain spot on the front porch, facing north, completely still, and with my right hand on my left tit, while making sure no one opens the freezer door.

12)  In addition to my two dogs and three cats, Frank volunteered me to foster a six-month old lab with teeth like steel who thinks everything is a toy, except her actual toys. She has the face of an angel and the manners of Attila the Hun.

13)  Here’s the real kicker…Burgin is dry, so I can’t even belly up to a bar and drown my sorrows.

All ranted out. Damn, I feel a little better. Thanks for listening.  I promise my next blog will be so upbeat that kitten-scented rainbows will fly off the page and give you a hug.