This is not going to be coherent post. I’m just warning you ahead of time, and if you want to blame someone for my inability to write in something more complex than an improperly punctuated sentence fragment, here…
Oh, I know. He looks all innocent, and “Who, me? Would I ever deposit a dead bat at your feet at two o’clock in the morning?”
DO NOT BE FOOLED.
Now, let me just say something about bats. I heart them. Really, I do. They eat mosquitoes for dinner. For that alone I’d scoop a dozen of them up and snuggle under the covers with their furry little bat faces. You know, if it wasn’t for the rabies. And the flapping. For some reason the flapping freaks me out.
But, all in all, I’m a fan of the bat. For example, remember that time I incoherently narrated my attempt to coax a bat into releasing his death grip on my carpet? (I swear I’m not drunk in that video. Apparently when I’m woken abruptly from a dead sleep I forget what words are and how to use them.)
In a fun little play on our usual scenario wherein the cat either brings me a live bat or leaves me a dead one, Sunday night I walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night for a drink of water and found a bat, spreadeagled on the floor, very clearly dead. Because only a dead bat would be spreadeagled on the floor. I don’t feel like I was making some incredible leap of logic with that assumption.
But when I reached down with some paper towels to pick up said bat carcass? That little shit opened his mouth and screamed.
Then I screamed. Probably. I might have blacked out. The next thing I recall I was hiding behind the kitchen table waving a paper towel in what I can only imagine was some kind of defensive maneuver, or else a sign of surrender.
NOT. DEAD. That bat was not dead.
So, long story short, I haven’t slept. At all. Apparently that makes it harder to use power tools and draw a straight line, but here’s a sneak peek of what I’ve been working on…
That’s forty-eight square feet of chalkboard, my friends. As far as I can tell it weighs four-thousand pounds. Also, I have so much chalk dust in my eyeballs. And splinters. Let’s not even talk about the splinters.
It’s still really rough, but there’s one important thing you can take away from this…
The farm has a name!
61% of people voted for Black Feather Farm. There were also some really fun ideas in the comments, but while I was walking out to the barn on Sunday, pondering whether or not Black Feather was the right name, I found this…
So, if anyone is wondering where I’m at for the next eternity, I’m probably drawing on a bigass chalkboard.