Back about 20 years or so ago, the spousal unit swapped some of his labour for an old cast iron fire escape. At the time it seemed like a good deal--we were getting a fireproof exit from our second floor bedroom without parting with any of our hard earned buckazoids.

Well, the deal with cast iron is that it's very prone to rusting so it needs lots of attention. And the deal with a fire escape is that it's all these little teensy nooks and crannies that are a knuckle skinning pain in the buttal region to scrape flaking rust and old paint off of.

We won't discuss how hard it is to paint these things, how said nooks and crannies make huge honking paint drips almost inevitable. There are some pains so huge we can only look at them obliquely.

My approach over the last few years has been to wait for The Fire Escape Fairy to appear and to magically scrape off all the flaking paint and rust AND apply a wonderful, new, drip free coat of paint to our fire escape.

Unfortunately, she seems to have misplaced our address.

Had I kept after the fire escape each spring, dealt with the tiny bits of rust and applied a touch up coat of rustproof paint, it would not have been a major chore. That would have been the adult way to handle the situation. Instead, because it's a job I truly hate doing, I kept putting it off.

Yep, there's an adult way of dealing with situations and then there's the Marn way. You can learn a lot from me, but mostly it's about how not to live your life.

It's my special gift.

Well, the fire escape is now at the point Where Something Has To Be Done. It has that dilapidated je ne sais quoi, almost as if we're starting our own little ghetto here in the woods. Forget the garden gnomes, what that part of the yard calls out for is a few ceramic crack dealers or tiny clay hookers.

Since the spousal unit has been busily working on the house, the dreaded chore of dealing with the fire escape has fallen into my lap. I could have done it a few weeks ago when the weather was cooler, but, well Marn, Queen of the Procrastinators, didn't do that. Oh no, I waited until summer was well and truly here with high humidity, extreme temperatures and biting insects.

I started late yesterday afternoon with some of the scraping and part of the painting. It is not going well.

Intellectually, I know that the mature way to handle this is to just accept the situation, apply myself to the work with as positive an attitude as I can, and get it done. I know that.

Instead, I spend my time internally whining, fussing and fuming. Each time I scrape my knuckles I mentally shake my fist at an unfair universe. Every time I forget that I've painted an area and manage somehow to get my freakin' HAIR stuck in it (don't ask) I get even crankier.

I know it is stupid and that I'm making things even worse for myself than they should be just with my stinking attitude, but somehow I can't help myself. Fortunately, I'm guessing there's only another couple of days of scraping and painting to go and then it's done.

For now.

In happier news, Queerscribe is out of the hospital and on his way home with his parents today for some recuperation back at the home farm. That sweetie Joey put them all up at his place last night and not only did I get to speak with QS, I even got to gab with his mom who is every bit as cool as you'd expect.

Queerscribe said the get well thoughts left in his get well guestbook really buoyed his heart. I hope that he has time and inclination to open his diary again, at least to tell you his story. He is one very lucky man.

Wish I could say the same for myself.

*Sighhhhhhhhh*

Gotta go. Right outside the door there's a fire escape with my name on it. Too bad cast iron doesn't burn, eh? If it did, I'm telling you now I know of one fire escape that would uh Spontaneously Combust Under Mysterious Circumstances.

Dratted fire escape. Grumble. Fume. Whine. Snivel.

Marn.

Mileage on the Marnometer: 315.68 miles (512.4 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers