Crazy Cow Country Farm

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Obviously there’s something very very wrong with me

January 13th, 2008 · 4 Comments · Uncategorized

You know when you feel something for years and years but can’t tell anyone because you’d be the only one who feels that way?  You know when you’re with people and they’re gushing on and on about something so wonderful and you’re thinking, “Ugh.  I hate that.”  And you know how when you finally get brave enough to just barely mention to someone that perhaps, maybe, kinda, just a little  you don’t exactly care for such and such and then they look at you like you’ve confessed to being an axe murderer or liking Michael Jackson?  And then you know how you argue with yourself because you really should like that but yet you don’t and then you realize you’re sitting there having an entire conversation in your head?  Then you start wondering about therapy because you’re having entire conversations in your head?  Ok, right, you know all that right?  You know exactly what I’m talking about because you do that too right?  Right?

Well here’s where I’m such going to say it.  I’m going to accept my deviancy, admit it to all, wear the t-shirt with pride, yada, yada, yada.  Come close, this is going to be tough.  I kinda feel like that boy in The Sixth Sense or something.  Only I don’t see dead people.  Worse.

I don’t like wood floors.  We have them and one day, I’d like to cover them.

Alright, who’s still remaining?  Who didn’t just fall over dead from shock.  I’m sure Cousin Jerry did, she’s a prim and proper woman so she’s mortified by my confession.  I know My Damn Brother In Law did because he actually enjoys polishing his floors he’s so proud of them.  I’m so sorry.  Forgive me, I have sinned. 

I bought my first house in 1987 and it had wood floors.  I hated them.  I hate the look, the sound, the echo, the furniture scraping, the kids’ toys on them, I just really hate them.  The only time I ever enjoyed them is when the kids spilled something or made some kind of mess – cleanup is a breeze on wood floors.  Then we moved to Newton to a carpeted home.  For the first time in my adult life I felt like this was a “home” and other than it just being a generally very nice house, never understood why.  Now we’re in the farmhouse where the only carpet we have is in the dining room and, trust me, it’s got  to go – carpet and three boys underneath the dining table and in the main traffic-way, do not mix. 

Ed and I are picking colors for painting the walls and discussing furniture re-arrangements.  I’ve never really “homey-fied” this house due to so many circumstances but as we were talking about all the things we’d like to do to make it more settled in I realized that when Ed mentioned carpeting a few of the rooms I suddenly envisioned……. homey.  I concentrated on all the plans for the room and it was like, eh, yeah, nice, but then I added carpet in the mix and it was like, yes, that’s it, wonderful!  I’ve accepted my disability and will no longer fight against it or try to pretend I’m normal like the rest of you.

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