Fiery Fever for few and far between

I got dressed up to write this today, not that it matters to the reader. Contrary to what most people’s believe, bloggers don’t wear full suit and tie to work. I wouldn’t classify myself as a blogger though. I’m often opposed to anyone giving me a label. What would my political stance be labeled as? When I first told my friends my opinion was changing on religion, one of them asked if it was a bit. I told him “I don’t know what I believe, so everything is a bit.” Labels are too static for my ever shifting perspective. All that said, I do like the label “farmer”. I think it’s because they’re in some sense the bottom of the social pyramid. In this example, the top would be the wealthiest 1% who are the furthest from growing and cooking their own food. Even disconnected from living their lives. My life consists of doing the tasks that if I was a billionaire I would pay someone else to do, so if I did pay people to do everything for me then I don’t know what I would have left to call “My life”. That’s what being a farmer is, every bit of your life is making your life, no bells and whistles between point A and B. I made cinnamon rolls this morning and brownies last night, I had macaroons on deck when I realized we have a mountain of sweets. I don’t know how to cook many savory meals, so I’m making it my mission to buy chunks of meat with one intended recipe to cook them, that way I will have a foundation to cook hardy meals. The hardiness is long lasting energy and that’s what I need. I’m over here thinking that I can eat a can of chicken everyday for lunch. You heard me right, I said a CAN OF CHICKEN.

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