Digging a Whole

On the weekend I dug.
I dug a whole lot. I dug a lot the weekend before too.
You see, our house (the one that is frustratingly close to completion) needs water. We need the water to drink, shower, fight fires and bidet our arses, but the house, It needs the water in a whole other way. It needs blood too, in the same way.
So I dug on the weekend.

and here's a picture.

gross, ain't it?

I dug a dang lot. There seems to be a thing with guys. A sort of Alpha-male thing that works overtime with their kids. It says to them (implicitly, not verbally), 'These are your children they once were only young. You were young long before they were young. You made mistakes that cost you some inconvenience. They will make the same mistakes if you don't warn them. They will blunder in and only you can save them'
Thankfully it doesn't take time to say things implicitly. And it does so clearly and totally unlike what I just wrote. It's like there is just one word(I'm going nuts with the markup today. [gog]) that means all of that, the id just says it, and you know. (This isn't supposed to be the you know... kind of you know, but the kind of you know where you just...know, you know?)
So I spent the last two weekends digging trenches. Did I ever mention the Rock? He does, but I have some and I had to dig through it. We've got a lot of sandstone.
And we've got a lot of quartz.
At least, I think it's the quartz that sparks when I hit it with the pick-axe.
So, the point.
I'm really sore. I haven't been doing much exercise recently. I'm flabby. My girly hands are devoid of calluses thanks to my desk job. I haven't knocked myself around hard enough to form scabs for ages. And the only time I get sore, aching muscles is the day after I go to the gym.
I'm such a wuss.
But not any more. I've been eating the quartz and sandstone. I've been cutting inch thick slivers of solid stone with each stroke of the pick-axe and have been headbutting the earth itself, taking the rock and the iron-ore and forging solid steel in my veins. I pump iron more than literally. I pump it super-literally. (I pump more literal meaning into it than physically possible) I can smash mountains with my eyelids and flatten buildings with my... you don't want to know.

Nikko smashing mountains with his eyelashes

Crumble!!

Of course, I can't lift my arms today. They've imbibed so much toughness that they have hardened into inflexible rods, just like steel. Steel that hurts to touch. (that is, the steel hurts) My back has taken out a restraining order from some god or goddess that doesn't like where I'm heading with this, which is to bed. I've got to get up in the morning and be awesome. Do you?

Light Farming

Once again, I sit before the computer, staring into the electron stream that is emitting from my LCD (I don't need an old cathode ray tube to have electrons emit themselves at me, I put them into the LCD and then sit back and bake) wondering what the hell it was that I thought I was going to write about the next time I'm here.
Well screw that.
Tonight, I'm going into the lounge, sitting down in front of the Tube and watch the electrons ricochet around the room. Then I'll come back here with the most awesome story your head ever exploded because of.
Okay, I'm back. I want to tell you the story of the magical psychotic connection I have with the lovely wife of her best friend, Felicity. (Commas rock, like many things, they, and HIM, as well as that other guy I won't mention, anymore to say that HE IS THERE, watching you, with a big stick, with which to stoke the fire, and he likes to think he is important, because they can wreak havoc on sentences, and mess up the judicial system, like that guy, you know, with the thing)
Let me unwrap that last sentence and find where you failed.

1. I have a lovely wife.
2. She has a best friend.
3. My lovely wife's name is Felicity.
4. Her best friend is ME.

I don't have a psychotic connection with her. We share a psychic connection. Not a psychic fair psychic connection, a psychic psychic connection. You know, with connection from psyche to psyche. With one psyche residing in my mind and the other psyche in hers. If there is any psychotic connections, it is when she finds out what I've been thinking, and kicks my arse.

See? Magical.