A nice morning spraying the vineyard - we did well, for once. There is always something, but at least for now, we know how to prepare for hiccups and adjust accordingly. The last time the f**** Stihl cannon didn't start - it started fine eve before - and the General was so furious, burning through all of his energy in the two hours he's tried to get it going. Our neighbour literally died, trying to get a motor going in the middle of their vineyard. In the meanwhile, Rock and I took little cans and sprayed from each our own direction, the old-fashioned way. The thing is, once the sun comes up, it is so hot and so uncomfortable, people have been known to vomit from overheating. By people I mean me. Those with more dignity just sit down and get drowsy. 

     The most important thing is to start in twilight - we thought we'll need to make the mix ourselves, but it was already made when we arrived. Sis's beau - a car mechanic - arrived exclusively to start the Stihl, because, for some reason, it just starts without a hitch when he tugs the cord. Don't ask how or why, it just does. It doesn't start when G does it. The scheme is, G uses the cannon to blow mist into the leaves and Rockstar runs back and forths, supplying him with buckets of chemicals. On this side, I use a 5 litre can to do it manually, slowly, making my way through and over and under and around at a bend, the lines which have over time crumpled and are all nasty. Since dad's been gone, nobody can mow the grass so it would be visible where you're walking, and often you have to walk backwards, and Emi, mum's dog, has an adorable habit of dissing foot-size holes at random places. It is more than common to just yelp and fall back on several occasions because you can't see the hole for the clover having overgrown it. The lines are also low, sagged, collapsed or leaning one to another, so a small person with a small can is much more likely to get through than G with his motorised mist-maker on his back. 

     Obviously, his method is 50 times better. The mist distributes flawlessly evenly on every surface, blowing the leaves over, reaching everything, from root to curlies. But now, with half of the left-side vineyard removed, if everything goes well, we are done by 7:30. 

     The work itself reminds me of dad so much, I really want to do it. I almost enjoy doing it, even though it's toxic as fuck and really strenous. The good thing about being an adult is, you are not surprised by the fact two hours of work feel like you've been beaten. The boys just shower and go back to sleep and are confused why they can barely move. I offed to the store to get some fancy new granola, barely managed to get back up the stairs. I will never understand how dad managed to maintain two vineyards by himself, with a little help from mum and a lot of traps from Emi. We are three - plus mum, occasionally, plus Emi, constantly - and we neither manage to mow, we don't have time to remove the parasite-infested leaves, we don't have time to trim the tops, we don't have time to remove the bottom leaves now, to allow for sunlight to colour the grapes; we will barely find time to put on anti-hail nets when the bottom leaves are removed. There's also a topmost terrace, a walkway, that needs to be reinforced, and the bridge between both vineyards has collapsed and will need to be remade. It's been, like, one fucking year since dad's no longer with us, and the place appears as it's been forlorn for a decade, even though we are there every other weekend, working our butts off.

Ah, well ...

Did you know it is possible to leave your 2021 tourism voucher in a bookstore with as little as showing your ID? I know now! Why, yes, that IS Okti, holding back a slightly upset Kindle. And now I have literally one single euro left for two days worth of food. Thank the Gods for cheap ass bakeries.

That man would have made a tremendous detective, if I thought our lives would be more interesting him sticking his neck out. He also makes for a much better actor than me, and can actually pull off a surprise. 

     Today was a nigh perfect day, with a small exception of getting a chicken Pad Tai which included prawns and has made me sick. But the surprise sex in the morning was sublime - I was caught so unaware of his intention, the whole event was over in an hour and I had no time to formulate any kind of emotional shackle to drag him to either breakfast or Ikea or the bookstore - smash, and he was gone. Then I met with a friend and had a nice coffee and later the Pad Tai at an open kitchen market - in theory, a lovely event, but for the prawns. Later I returned to town on a whim, desiring a desert (cottage cheese and walnut 'struklji' to which I added some raspberry jam, ground roasted hazelnuts and ice-cream), thinking of going to the bookstore a day prematurely (been saving the money all week.). I picked books about Moss and an Atlas of Vanishing Places ... and everyone in line before me was cashing in the travel vouchers, which you can now obviously use for literature, too. This was impossibly tempty. A 100 bucks for more books? Arrrrr ... Alas, last year's spa vacation was so pleasant, I really want to do it again. I want to take G glamping or something with indoor pools and a buffet restaurant, something where none of us wears bleeding blisters, where we can spend a whole week having sex and watching TV/reading in bed. 

      Of course, because he is a literary incubus, G asked to get him some vacation reading material on the subject of war crimes, and to spend the rest of the voucher on some more off my list. Damnit!! I cannot resist twice in a row!! It's all I can think about now! There are so many books I didn't get yet!

        I wanted to add, earlier, how he found me - not using the shared location, because that doesn't work properly lately. But he calculated exactly when I usually call him in the morning, Google-satellite-mapped the parking strategy of the street, dug up my old postcard-address-book, and reverse-considered the window, as I send him a lot of photos of the basking cat underneath it. Freakishly methodic creature. And he smells SO good and fucks soooo well. Guess I should get him some books, then :D

What a crazy fucking hoot G is. And damn he smells nice.

Making postcards for the General.

 (Mostly copies of stuff I see from better painters, but it keeps me busy :D )

 I do feel sad, I will say. Since I started my business, the taxes and fees for being able to see and buy anything, have gone up ... well, not even tenfold. Just ... out of nowhere.

     It used to be a little over 5 bucks to send international, it is now between 11 and 14. The postcard stamp used to be 26 cents, now it's 82. 

     Ali Express used to be free to RECEIVE - I bought so much worthless stuff that almost every morning the General would lay a minute envelope on my desk and there would be some trinket inside, something utterly silly, and adorable. Now even just the most basic things which I absolutely require - there is no alternative to halfpans anywhere in Europe - are charged the minimum of 9 euro per envelope, regardless of what is inside. 17 euro worth of pans gets charged the extra 9 euro, just to enter the country. Ita takes MONTHS to arrive.

      All of the stickers subscriptions are now taxed almost double their worth and take 4 months to arrive.

      There is a new law that makes you count and pay taxes for any form of container - from envelopes, jewelry boxes, to halfpans.  It doesn't matter how you wrap your shipments - the total sum of all of my wrappings per year is less than one kilo - you have to pay the minimum of 57 bucks to the government or some related institution. 

       Brexit cut me off from several pigment suppliers and the entirety of Book Depository. There is just a possible way to get my hands on certain materials without having to pay DHL, and THOSE charge the minimum of 22 euro for shipping plus 27 euro for charging you tax plus 22% tax on the value of the shipment PLUS the value of its shipping cost. 

    It feels a little like I work every day, all day, and the same amount of money I used to blow on shit that makes me happy now evaporates into the pockets of some fucking companies who don't give a flying crap whether I live or die. 

     And I had my first cancellation today. A 100 bucks worth. Not a good day to have a small business, is all I'm venting. 

Okay, I take it back. We fucked the climate. This year has been ridiculous. No snow, which means all of the insects and ticks survived tenfold, then it rained all through blooming season, starving the bees, then no fruit grew, so birds ate all the insects and berries and roe deer ate all the gardens, then frost hit and ruined the crops, then draught hit, keeping the temperatures absurdly high for well over a month and now all that water came down in western Europe, causing some towns to look like the armageddon was nigh. Yes, I know all of these are just minor inconveniences, nothing really changes or affects normal people, everyone will still worry about getting the new iPhone and whom will Kim Kardashian marry next, that ugly little girl Greta something will get more money to yell at conventions, politicians will appear sad for five minutes, promising betterment, the world will move on, but my pessimistic brain will always think: what if this is just the first of many very interesting years to come? Surely OUR rivers are better regulated in case of overload, right? Right?