atomic_fungus (atomic_fungus) wrote,


Finishing up with putting everything away and closing up the garage--the wood crib is laden with wood and not going anywhere, the remainder of the wood out front for the tree grinders on Monday--I paused a few moments to look at the garage, now back in 100% order after my project, and thought about the next step for cleaning it out.

Getting rid of that old stove (you can see a broken piece hanging off the front; it was ever thus even when it first came here in 1988) will free up room for the lawnmower I'm not using, and some other stuff, so I made the decision to have a gander at that Monday or Tuesday. Satisfied that all was in order, I shut off the light, locked the door, and stepped outside, closing it behind me--


Right over the kidney in my back, feeling like a hot wire shoved into the skin, right where a human being cannot reach on his own body unless he's really flexible.

Me: "Oooowww what the FUCK!" Reflexively trying to reach the spot where I'm being stung, instinctively fleeing the spot, get it off GET IT OFF ME--

Swearing some more, and looking back, and realizing A) that I'd been stung by a bee or something, and B) was no longer being stung, I looked for my assailant. Nothing squirming on the ground, which is where a bee should be after stinging a mammal, but ah! Up there, by the garage door, a rather nicely-sized wasps' nest that wasn't there earlier this year, with wasps on it. Wasps can sting you and fly away.

Then I got mad.

I stormed inside, went under the kitchen sink and found the can of Black Flag, went back out there and hosed that motherfucker down.

"How do you like that?" I snapped. "You fucker! Take that, you piece of shit! That's right, I've got poison and I hope you like it, asshole! That's what you get for stinging me!"

I know the wasp was only acting on instinct, but it's my nature to take such things personally. It's not really a good trait, but it's part of who I am.

It was perhaps a quarter-can, and I used it up hosing down that bitch. Damn it, do not sting me, you fuck. If you leave me alone I'll leave you alone--I was not even aware of your presence until you stung me--but if you hurt me or my wife, I will kill you and all your children and tear down your house.

...dang, put that way, it's kind of metal, and not at all petulant.

* * *

The other thing that happened today was good; while I was working on the wood crib a fox sauntered through the yard. It was no scraggly-looking beast, but a healthy example of the breed. It stopped by the fence and looked at me as I greeted him warmly. "Hey, Foxy-loxy! How're you doing, guy?" He sniffed the pile of logs I'd dumped there, and looked around a bit, and finally ducked into the bushes, in absolutely no hurry whatsoever. What a pity I didn't have my camera handy.

I also saw a crane or heron go sailing over the house, about the time I was ascertaining what had stung me. You never used to see them around here, but they seem to be increasingly common over the past few years.

So I've got the wood crib done and loaded with firewood, and it's off the patio, and the next step is to powerwash all the dirt and crud off so we have a clean place to celebrate the 4th of July. And I got a little more junk (the wood I used to build it!) out of the garage. Win all around!

Except for getting stung. Bitch.

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