Procrastination that Stings

A few weeks ago my housemate came home with, literally, a tree. And not some wimpy sapling, either. This was a big ol' fir tree that was knocked over in her friend's yard during the last windstorm. The city sawed off the branches and the trunk into logs roughly 2-2 1/2 feet long. The tree was about two feet in diameter, and a bit more in the thickest part. She had said something to me earlier about "rearranging" the firewood outside and I had agreed to help. A few days after seeing this pile outside, I enquired at to how exactly we were going to cut that wood into managable pieces. She's had a friend come out with a chainsaw before, so I thought maybe that was the plan. She put on her patronizing, third-grade teacher voice and said, "It needs to be split. Have you ever split wood before?"

What the hell state does she think I grew up in? I didn't appreciate the insinuation that I was a worthless, unskilled kid, which is exactly how she was trying to make me feel. I snapped back, "Of course I have! I'm a Cottam. Haven't you ever been camping with us?" She seem a little stung at my shortness, but I thought it was deserved.

Half out of laziness and half out of spite at our convservation, I continued to ignore the woodpile. When I got into the mood, I figured, then I'd chop a bit. This mood would hopefully coincide with the end of a rainstorm, so the wood would be nice and soft. Unfortunately, the mood didn't hit until today and it's now 26 degrees outside and hasn't been above 35 in three days, so those logs are now really giant ice cubes. Splitting it with an axe would be a lot like trying to split the street curb. Noooo thank you. Meanwhile, the dry woodpile is getting smaller and smaller and the temperature ain't gettin' any higher. Methinks tomorrow will be a painful day.