Day 4. 40 pages, 16,188 words.
I had a sad day yesterday but as a result I slept in today and then had to take the girls to daycare so it was a really late start, and I’ve gotten nothing done. This is why I get up at 04:00am.
So instead of my little grumbly rant about yesterday’s fuckery, I will render a quick note about how the day ended, and how this one began.
So yesterday, which was a shit of a day after a shit of a week for both Mrs. Hatboy and myself, ended with what was supposed to be a nice relaxing shower. I was halfway through washing my hair (of which I have a lot) and beard (of which I have a respectable amount) when the water from the shower slowed to a trickle, and then stopped altogether. We managed to get about 3cm of water in a bucket before it was all over. I was sitting there with shampoo all over my head like some sort of rabid hobo.
It’s just fortunate that I had opted to wash my hair and put in conditioner before taking off my colostomy bag for washing and changing. I generally do that while the conditioner sets in. I have a routine. The routine is not served by the water stopping.
Anyway, turned out to just be a hiccough in the ancient water pump that we share with the neighbours, so all was well. I didn’t hang around to wait for my uncle-in-law (our aforementioned neighbour) to set it right, though – I had shampoo dripping into my eyes and a wet bag of shit slowly peeling away from my stomach, so I hightailed it to mommo‘s house and finished my shower.
So, all was well that ended well. I did miss hearing Mr. BRKN on the radio, though, which was unfortunate.
This morning, I walked the girls over to daycare and was delighted to see our latest local decoration for the first time (it happened a few days ago but I hadn’t seen it before now).
“Some people are just fucking idiots.” – Wump, showing more intelligence and judgement at 5 than these dick-cheese motherfuckers managed at 15-19.
Now, obviously I’m pretty pissed about this. I have absolutely no problem with guys tagging concrete bridge abutments and random walls. I prefer a bit of artistry and colour to my graffiti and I think tags are just low form, but whatever. Art is art.
When you go and tag our local forest, then you lose all semblance of usefulness to my worldview. If this guy had fallen off the cliff face and broken his neck, I do believe I would have been pleased about it.
That being said, I’m not filled with murderous vengeful rage. I’m not that guy, obviously. It would be ideal, as far as I’m concerned, if the guys responsible for this would come and clean it off, then apologise to the village council. No harm, no foul. Of course, that’s never going to happen.
 And I did actually see them on the evening it occurred, but there are always teenagers hanging around up there. Usually all they do is litter a bit, and even that has improved since my in-laws went up there with their best hillbilly clubs and encouraged them to clean the fuck up after themselves, but that was a good 5 or 6 years ago. The one guy (of the two I saw up there) I got a reasonable look at was maybe 6′ tall, skinny, with brown hair in a sort of a bowl cut. That’s about all I saw though, unfortunately.
See, I did my share of dumb, obnoxious things as a teenager. Nothing that couldn’t be hosed harmlessly away, I think, but sure. Some cringeworthy and shameful things. I wouldn’t want to be punished disproportionately for any of them. And fair to say that I grew up, at least in some senses. So I do look back and cringe. I do care about our corny ol’ patch of forest, which I probably would have found boring as a kid. I’ve changed. These guys will too. At least, I’d like to hope so. But I don’t know. Maybe if you’re the sort of teenager who would spray-paint a forest rock-face, the damage has already been done and you’re a lost cause.
Mrs. Hatboy has made me a better person, both in my own behaviour and in terms of judging other people for the stupid shit they do.
So yeah. Let them apologise, fix the damage they’ve done, and walk away.
If they do it again, let’s neuter them so my children don’t have to share oxygen with their sloping-headed troglodyte spawn.