Author's Note: Ever since I started playing Harvest Moon: More Friends of Mineral Town, I have been sucked into the game in a very terrifying way. And ever since then, I've been toying with the idea of a fun little fic to accompany the game, from the view-point of everyone's favorite adorable farmer-girl herself. There were just so many hilarious things in the game that kept cracking me up-- like how you have to literally bribe your way into people's hearts and the way our little farmer reacted when she first saw what the farm looked like-- that I knew writing a fic for it would be comedy gold.

And out of that initial inspiration comes this series. I'm planning on updating sporadically but since the diary entries will be short little snippets from every day for the first year (or so) of her life, they shouldn't be spaced so far apart. In any case, please review if you enjoyed reading this. It really motivates me as an author when I know people out there are reading!


Title: From the Mixed Up Files of a Farming Malfunction
Fandom: Harvest Moon: More Friends of Mineral Town
Characters/Pairings: Farmer, Farmer/Doctor, Farmer/Gray, Cast of the Game
Rating: R
Summary: A single girl's guide to mating and creating a life for herself within Mineral Town. Or: How to keep your sense and sanity while moving into a farm that might actually be
helped by acid rain. Beware snarkiness running rampant!
Note: Profanity and eventual sexual content (yes, it's coming eventually!)


Spring 1, Diary Entry #1:

You know, I remember reading in English class a few years back about a famous poet who once wondered what dreams deferred are like.

Now, being some fancy pansy poet dude, or whatever, he didn't just go ahead and ask people so he could find out why. He had to use some wacky metaphors about drying raisins and festering sores (or was that festering raisins and drying sores?) while he was trying to explain how having hope served to you on a silver platter that later gets smacked upside your head sucks big-time. And not just sucking a little big-time. Sucking big big-time. Sucking like a hooker with a mouth full of novacaine big-time. Sucking like a blackhole slowly pulling apart all your molecules into an excruciating death big-time.

Well, back when I was actually in school and kinda-sorta gave a damn about learning, I actually liked that poem-- even if reading about festering sores really isn't my idea of a good time. But until now-- well, I guess I've kinda lived my life as a small scale disappointment, to both me and everyone around me. When you're a small time cog in the corporate machine and a girl who's idea of a good time is watching reruns of Friends on Saturday nights and playing dodge-the-obvious-douche-bags when you eventually go to a club out of desperation... well, yeah. You get used to disappointment pretty quickly.

My life hasn't exactly been stellar so far. Honestly, it's like all the days, all the weeks, all the months, all the years-- every single moment I've been slogging through has meant nothing.

But until now, I never really got what having your hopes crushed really felt like.

And that's largely because, until now, I never made the mistake of getting fed up enough with my life to give up my apartment, quit my job, cash in my meager 401k and invest in a adorable little farm that was supposed to be "charming" and "rustic" and "a real fixer upper" and have real cows going around squirting milk and Lassie frolicking in the gardens and chickens that shoot out eggs every time the sun comes up and happy little villagers coming in to greet me every day and maybe unicorns stopping by to bless me once in a while and--

And--

And--

And--

And find out that I gave it all up for a urine-soaked hell-hole that even the mayor of the townthinks sucks like a tranny with a bottle-full of Tylenol.

Diary, I am not joking here. If a meteor was to hit this place, it would count as rural renewal. A plague of locusts couldn't do much more damage to the non-existent crop-harvest. Machete wielding bush-men could have greeted me at the gates and it'd still be nicer than the non-existent welcome almost everyone in the town gave me.

And the house I have to live in smells like pee because the god-damned puppy that I got-- who is no Lassie, by the way!-- isn't even house-broken. That's right. I move in-- the first freaking person to take on the task of trying to fix this stupid farm in years-- and I get greeted by the Most Morose Mayor of All Time and Pissy the Pee-Happy Puppy.

Of course, on second thought, I probably shouldn't have chased the mayor around with a hammer for a little bit for him coming out and telling me that I had to be thicker than a troll riding the short-bus for getting robbed of my money for this place. But luckily, he's either a really nice guy or the concussion scrambled his brain enough to forgive me afterwards.

So here I am. 22 years old and completely broke, after buying this place here. Single after a string of shitty boyfriends and desperate for any kind of company company. Young, dumb, and apparently living in a rural slum. And apparently in need of a major miracle here.

So. Shit on a shinola.

I've never been the religious type... but this is just the sort of thing that makes me almost want to start praying.


Author's Note Part 2: If you enjoyed, please be a doll and review. It only keeps me writing over the long-run. 3 And if you think this was fun, I can't wait to get to get to the part where everyone's favorite shell-shocked farmers meets the town's bachelors. Sparks will fly-- literally in some cases!

And the poem our favorite snarky famer girl's talking about in the beginning is Langston Hughes' "A Dream Deferred." That's right. Now you can have a little bit of literature mixed in with the farming bitchery. ;)