This Winter has gotten to me. It's moved way out beyond cabin fever to a low-grade persecution complex. Every drift and pot hole feels like it's mocking me.
Last night I was chipping away at the glacial drift at the end of the driveway. (Each night when I get home from work I've attempted to widen the passage a little bit.) I found a part of a Christmas tree. Not a big part, but a branch, still dragging tinsel through the sandy snow. How depressing.
My beloved has bought a new length of hose to run the sump pump outlets to somewhere near the rock garden and that's given me the idea that might make a redemption of this snowy season.
Waukesha can have the water from my sump pump. I'm sure that I have the mineral rights to the water from inside my foundation. All Waukesha has to do is bring a truck and hook the pipe up to it. For no more than the price of Dasani they're welcome to haul it away. Ninety nine cents a pint plus transportation.
Drop me an email. If I haven't heard from Waukesha by Monday I'm calling New Berlin.