ADVENTURE is a Double-Edged Word

I haven’t blogged much lately: truth be told I’ve been fighting off a depression of sorts for all of November. Most days it’s been hard to muster the energy to be pleasant at work, so I haven’t written much at all. 
That’s not a request for attention: I get these once or twice a year, and I know what to do. I don’t get suicidal: I get numb, as though I’m watching life go by from outside a frosty window or from beneath an iced over lake. Everything seems two steps removed from positively affecting me (although my internal demons are especially loud). 
It fixes itself with a bit of time and rest: I just have to wait it out and remember The Bloggess’s mantra: depression lies. The most terrifying part is waiting for human-like feelings to come back (because what if they don’t?). 
But because the Jess’s-patience-bucket is full-to-overflowing with no more room for stupid, I withdraw from most peopleing time while I’m in the middle of this bullshit. 
Holidays, however, wait for no demons. 
This was the first year in 14 that I was uncoupled for Thanksgiving, because separated. I expect Christmas will be equally…different. And so, instead of hanging around for four days with the dogs watching bad TV, I went to the farm outside of Cloquet. Yes, the same Cloquet where Jessica Lange was born. 
No, I’m not named after her. 
Amusingly, Blogger’s spellchecker doesn’t recognize Cloquet. Not terribly surprising. 
The farm is a bit of land near a river where my Grandma, aunt, her partner, and the real owners (horses, ponies, dogs, cats, guineas, chickens, and now two skunk kits) live. After all, we’re all on their schedules, and rightly so. The skunk kits are a stinky new addition to the barn, and likely won’t be a permanent one. 
I’ve added a couple of pictures from the weekend’s shenanigans…which helped in the feeling-sorta-human department: 
Found in the local grocery store next to “normal” cereal. Because in northern Minnesota, regularity is apparently so important there’s special poop-inducing granola JUST FOR WEIRDOS:
SO many captions possible here, I just can’t choose. 

I’m now 100% convinced the corners of the basement on the farm hide something vampiric. There isn’t enough room to store a coven of human-sized vampires, but there’s DEFINITELY room for gnome or brownie-sized bloodsuckers.

Since I found this on the windowsill, I’m guessing sun-aged blood is tastier?


*(Grandma swears it’s molasses…I did NOT smell or taste to be sure. 

Most people do the dishes looking out the window at the yard, the woods, into the neighbor’s house (awkward)…

Grandma watches a spider protect the kitchen by catching ALL THE THINGS. I come by my weirdness naturally, people.

Charlotte, watching over the sink. 


On a different note, I discovered my renters (I don’t know which ones) were apparently doing some sort of demonic rituals in my house while I was in Texas. They left this shit behind, up against the wall in the far corner of the top shelf in the laundry room. I think it’s posessed.

It will be going to someone else for Christmas.

Fuck you, former renters.
No really. Fuck you and your creepy clown spy. 

 Evil disapproves*


*Evil is at a stage where the word “no” said NEAR her creates insta-crying. As discovered when this picture was taken, after the N-word was uttered in casual conversation in her vicinity. It’s adorable and hilarious, and laughing ONLY MAKES HER ANGRIER. 

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