Wood

When hippies and illiterates from hollers claim their lives have more meaning than the airbags in cities with their poetry, they have a point. I spend ever minute I can in my room, reading, listening to music, writing this bull**** and researching people who do the same, and I rarely feel as fulfilled by 7 hours of that as I do from 1 hour splitting wood.

My guitar callouses are fine motor versions of the honking blisters I have. Running a couple times a week does not make my legs feel what my whole body feels right now.

Little has ever made me feel more genuinely powerful. Telling off children in front of a corner shop is nothing but mental. The only thing that compares to this is shooting a Glock at golf balls in the rain on the top of a mountain. And even that was a sharp, bright speck next to this behemoth.

You could argue, genderists, that this is because I am a woman. I am splitting wood for the upkeep of my hearth etc. I like to think it's because I am almost all Viking, and as such have, somewhere in my blood very brute conquering strength. Aim is for Brits. We Saxons, Goths and Thors (there really should be a group of Scandinavians out there in history bearing the name directly) just wanna tear shit up.

I don't think I can be criticized as butch either seeing as I did the whole thing in full Moldovanka regalia.

Bunica came out. Watched me cus it was better than tv.