Some people would take one look at today, see the partly cloudy seventy-five degree weather outside, and jump for joy at the opportunity to spend the day outside because they have the entire day off. I am not such a person, but not for the reasons you might think. You see, I really am that person, but the problem is that when it comes to being outside right now, at this very moment in time, my options are not good. This semester, Wednesdays for me entail fourteen hours of non-stop work. It starts off with an internship that lasts for over six hours, and then I work for eight hours as soon as that is done. So when I found out I'd have the day off, I took the opportunity to not go anywhere because I didn't fucking have to.

When I got off work last night, I dragged my flat ass, tired from that day's fourteen hours of joy (same deal as Wednesdays), home to collapse. Normally, I walk in the door, drop everything where I stand, and if I'm lucky I'll make it to the couch. Last night, however, I nearly collapsed before I even reached the door. And not from exhaustion.

I live in a guest house, which means that I make my home in someone else's back yard. It's nice and all, and you'd think that having that back yard space would be a bonus. It is, generally, only there's the problem of forever having people walk by your window and operating loud machinery at ungodly hours of the morning. But only if your landlord happens to be a contractor. Which, as it happens, mine is.

About twice a year, my landlord decides to go green. Not 'green' in the let's protect the environment sense, but rather 'green' in the let's try to grow some green grass sense. So he orders what I can only assume to be, judging by the smell, two semi-truck loads full of manure. And then he plops all that shit all over the yard.

So to put this in perspective here: whose kitchen window overlooks a grassy part of the yard? Mine. Whose main windows are open all the time and are literally only a few feet from large areas of grass? Mine. So who got home last night and almost passed out from the fumes? That would be me.

The whole loathsome smell thing aside, I simply cannot figure out why the man does this. The logic of it escapes me. When I first got glasses, I was talking to my oldest brother at some point about how much better I was able to see. He decided to try them on, and he lasted for all of five seconds before he yanked them off, handed them back, and said "Dang, Phil, I don't know how you can see through those things." Such a comment might have made sense had I removed my actual eyeballs and let him try those on, sure, but these were just glasses.

My landlord, evidently, uses the same such logic regarding his grass. He has a dog, a Border Collie who can run twenty miles per hour in his sleep, and whose antics in the backyard tear up the grass like it was tissue paper. It seems obvious, at least to me, that trying to achieve perfect grass is a waste of time and money. Not to mention a waste of all that waste he dumped all up in the yard.

When he asks me why the electricity bill was so much higher even though it's been cooler out and "haven't you been keeping your windows open why are you running the air conditioner?!" I'll offer two words in response: COW SHIT.