Countdown to (Mental) Breakdowns

Sometimes, let me refine that, most times things don't go as planned. Planning after all is relative to your perception of reality and mere chance. If life has taught us anything it should be to remain pragmatic and plan on shifting course at any given time.

Sifting through the days events I'm reminded of a generic contemporary country song about the woes of everyday life. You know the dity where some cowboy's wife, kids and dogs run out on 'im and his tractor is burried in a sinkhole. My woes, more modest it would seem, can be summed up by (what appears to be) a blown alternator and a pair of low-blood sugar induced crankypants. Acutally that sounds more like a track from Posion Idea's masterpiece "Feel the Darkness" than Kenny Chesney assualting a security crew in Buffalo after a few too many Bud Lights.

Nevertheless, today was a day of fires and misfires. After setting off at a sprinters pace on irrigation patrol I turned the keys in my ignition to hear "click, click, click." Surely it was a battery issue or was it? A jump and two hours later and the Bonnie refused to give a faint chug let alone turn over at all.

Crap! It was inevetible. Since April I have been working the car over day after day, speeding and bouncing across the bumpy backgrounds from the foot of the Mayacams to the twisty-turvy roads of the Sonoma Coast. She is a trooper, but it was bound to happen. A countdown to breakdowns.

Out of commission La Tortuga Verde (yes, that is the car's name. Strong and steady like a tortoise) lied dormant while I shuttled about Sonoma moving macro-bins down from Cloverdale and delivering equipment for tommorrow's picks.

The second week of harvest and I can feel my body aging, the hairs losing their pigment, graying overnight. My body is weakening and my tongue still feels weird from all those grapes I ate. Acid or chemicals? The jury is still out. But hey, when you are hungry, you eat what's around you. Technically that's eating local right.

Ah, hell I think the only solution is to carry a stockpile of non-perishable snacks. Punx is snax right? Since when did I forget my roots?