A few months ago, Jason and I had the house to ourselves. Something that should have been really exciting and romantic, was actually more stressful and frustrating.
I was about to embark on my first ever DNS morning. We were signed up to run the Tacoma Narrows... which I have run twice before and LOVE. However, we were undertrained, overworked, and broke. Instead, we were using a night that should have been spent casually traveling to a nice hotel room cleaning up, looking after animals and working out bills and our budget. I was irritated, sick to my stomach about not starting a race I had registered for five months ago and disappointed in myself for being part of the problem. This isn't the first time Jason and I have had budget woes. Now, we aren't on a fiscal cliff or anything, but sometimes we just get lazy and irresponsible with what God has blessed us with.
Chores done, outside work complete... we enter the house and get ready to file, shred, and sort through junk mail, bills and overstuffed file cabinets.
At this point, I decide I deserve a glass of homemade wine. Because I have good manners, I offered my husband a glass as well.
So we drink wine and file. Jason finds an old (I mean O.L.D.) to do list... so we read it and check off the things he completed and laugh at how long ago they were and what was completely irrelevant.
By the time the filing and cleaning was at a lull, the bottle was empty too. At which point, I promptly opened a second. I had decided I deserved a bottle to myself and not just a glass.
This is probably where I should explain that this is not normal behavior for me. I had my drinking days, long, long ago, and I wish never to return. Jason and I enjoy a glass of wine or a beer in the evenings on occasion. I do not routinely drink bottles of wine. We don't go out, we don't party, we don't even hardly drink with friends. We are kitchen table sippers.
By this point, I have come to terms with my DNS. And I have decided to live the night like I will be doing exactly the opposite of running 13.1 miles in the morning.
So Jason and I relaxed and flipped through Mother Earth and Grit. We laughed about our farm, and I admitted I had been thinking about goats. Maybe a milk goat or two. If you know this story, you know how funny that is. So we read the articles and realized out loud that we don't have enough time as it is. We are tied to our house as it is.
We started to dream about homesteading. I could be a stay at home milker. We could go organic and sell eggs. We have quail and chickens and ducks in droves. I could have flocks and gaggles and coops galore. So I Googled selling quail and duck eggs. We looked up how to become organic certified. With each sip, my dreams became more realistic. I started making plans. I emailed someone on Craiglist with a Khaki Campbell drake, because we would need one to mate with our female ducks. That way I could hatch 50 or so more ducks and stay home with my ducks and quail and goats and kids (human children).
At some point, I vaguely remember deciding that if we could sell quail eggs for so much a dozen, how much could we sell a dozen human eggs for?
That is when my dear and patient husband told me it was time for bed.
I laughingly put my computer and bottle away. Seriously, hysterically laughing, I went to bed talking about goats.
Now, this humorous story has a much sadder ending...
The next day, I was ridonkulously sick. Awfully, mortifyingly hung-over. The first hangover I have had in 11+ years. It was not cool. And I deserved every last bit of it.
While it was fun to dream... and I will continue dreaming, I probably won't be selling any eggs (including my own), owning an organic quail farm, or drinking another bottle of wine any time soon.