Thursday morning and the dog is wuffing because there are MEN in the yard with ladders and loud machinery to saw tree branches and crawl on the roof of the garage. The garage roof has evil moss that eats away at the shingles so they fall off and then the roof leaks and then more disaster ensues with flooding and floating and ruin.
I want a wee cabin in the woods where the wild hyssop grows and no one mows the weeds and the chickens mingle with the elves and I sit on the porch in my pajamas drinking tea and reading a fat novel. With a pond off in the distance where frogs live. And no sirens or people only wild creatures. And the vines curl into the kitchen and the floors are made of birch worn smooth and a big fireplace where a fire burns most of the time and we eat with our hands and we live until our beards touch the ground.
And there is no need for maintenance of any kind.
And I continue with my magical thinking unto the end.