That was quick

I’ve mentioned that Mr B is building a new pond, right?

Well, we got some moderately heavy rains the last couple days.

It filled up quick, and there’s more rain on the way.

That was quick.

Final note: the time difference between the 1st picture & the last pic? Less than 12 hours. The time it took to get from nothing to the stage of the 1st pic? About 18 hours. Mr B went out & dug a small trench so that it would start draining a little bit and not flood anyone upstream, so that’s as full as it got even though more rain & run off happened.



Much like I’m obsessed with the idea of spoons (for so very many reasons), I’m also a bit obsessed with the idea of Iris. A brief interaction with Robin on yesterday’s post pushed me over the edge; something that’s been rolling around in my head for the last few days has to come out. right. now.

Back in the 90s, The GooGoo Dolls released a song called “Iris” that still haunts me today. It was written for the “City of Angels” movie.

The first time I ever heard the song, I was in the living room, doing some house cleaning or some shit. This was back in the days when you could still get your hands on rack stereo systems, and we had a good one. The song came on the radio, and I didn’t pay much attention until I heard the line “yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive”.

That line punched me in the gut, and I remember what everything looked like and felt like and smelled like and sounded like as I struggled to remember how to breathe again. The way the light streamed in thru the glass sliding doors. The beige carpet. The stone veneer on the fireplace. The mountain of serious electronic ridiculousness that was our entertainment center. The view of the kitchen as my head snapped up when I heard that line. The feeling of being weightless, breathless, and disconnected from myself and so lost in the moment…

For me, “Iris” is about life. About letting another person inside the walls I’ve erected around the deepest darkest corners of my soul, and letting that someone know exactly who I really am.

It’s also about having no regrets. Its about how, given the chance to do it all over again, I would go through all the hell I’ve been through just to have the moments I’ve had that took my breath away, the moments that I felt most secure, the moments I felt most loved, the moments that made me feel most alive.

Yes, the choices I made wound me up in 12 step fellowships, a couple of stays in institutions, even a few stays in the gated community as a guest of the state. None of those things were fun. I’d still go through it because that’s exactly what it took for me to become who I am. Without the legal problems stemming from addiction, I would never have wound up in the same 12 step meeting as Sunshine; it took what it took to land me right where I am.

I love Irises. I love the beauty of them. I love the symbolism they hold for me.

Lately, there’s another layer to the Iris thing.

Iris Apfel.

She is amazing, isn’t she? She does what she wants. She wears what she feels like wearing.

Iris has zero fucks to give if you don’t like her outfit or her life choices.

Iris kicks ass.

Iris calls it like she sees it.

Iris lives life out loud.

I need to be more like Iris. I need to quit being such an introverted bundle of anxiety ridden depression and hormonal rage. I need to get out of the house more often, interact with people, run through the field with the dog, go to museums and festivals with Sunshine, dance in the rain, and any other number of things that can take my breath away.

I’ll he spending the next week in soul searching and meditation, coming up with some specifics to help the job placement specialist find me a job I’ll really love. I’m going to dig deep and figure out what job would be something I enjoy so much that I’d do it for free; then I’m going to pray vocational rehab helps me get a job that pays me to do something I love.

I know I love structure, a set routine with few changes. We’re all pavlov’s dogs, after all. However, I want that routine to be structured around something creative. My dream job would be a clothing boutique, helping women create outfits that make them feel good about themselves. Hopefully, the placement specialist can help me find something close to that, or maybe take me in a direction equally satisfying to my creative side.

So thank you, Robin, for asking the question that led to all this drool inducing drivel that really boils down to me wanting to work with clothes and shoes (or something else creative), and not in an impersonal environment; I want to help individuals pick just the right thing for themselves.

And now, I’ll leave you with some inspirational words of wisdom from Iris:

When I grow up

Since I got fired from my job at the produce stand, I’ve been thinking about what kind of job I’d like to have next. It’s been harder than I thought.

Seriously, when I’m 48 years old and having to ask myself “what do I want to be when I grow up?”…

…then something is wrong with this picture. With assistance from a job placement specialist (thank you, vocational rehab!), I get to set parameters for what kind of job this lady finds me.

  • What days am I able/willing to work?
  • What hours am I able/willing to work?
  • What kind of physical restrictions do I have?
  • Do I need any adaptive technology or accommodations to do the job?
  • What would I like to do?
  • What do I refuse to do?

And so on and so forth.

So here I am, trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up.

And “the idle rich” ain’t gonna cut it with vocational rehab.

So tell me, what do you want to be when you grow up?

It always gets worse…

…before it gets better.

I’m going through physical therapy for a 20 year old shoulder injury. It’s fucking hard. I’m rebuilding muscles that haven’t been used for two decades, and it hurts like hell sometimes.

The KT tape seems to be helping, and even if it isn’t…well, at least it’s an interesting way to accessorize an outfit.

I was doing my hand weight exercises Thursday and everything was hurting so much that I was starting to get discouraged. It’s been a whole 3 weeks since I started, I should be 1000 times further along than I actually am.

Patience may be a virtue, but it damn sure ain’t one of mine.

Yesterday morning, because I’m so sore, I decided not to do any of my p.t. exercises since I had an appointment in the afternoon anyway. I did some yin yoga instead, focusing on my lower back and hips. I was moving from pigeon pose to sleeping pigeon when I realized that my shoulder didn’t feel like it was going to collapse.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough of a sign of progress that it gave me hope again.

I’m sitting here this morning, aching like hell, waiting on my morning meds to kick in, and generally doing anything I can to procrastinate actually doing my p.t. homework for the day.

I know that the darkest hour is just before the dawn, and it always gets worse before it gets better and all that happy horseshit. It’s just hard to motivate when it hurts so much.

Hunting buddies

Sunshine has had many hunting buddies over the years. There was Number One, who got Sunshine started down the road to obsession with feral pigs. There was the crew(s) from Lucid, Inc. There was Klaus, Sunshine’s kods, the State Trooper, a really tall (6’7″) dude I’ll call Shorty, there’s our friend in the next town over who I’ll call Mr T.

Last night, Sunshine went to hunt feral pigs. He went alone, but he didn’t stay alone.

Flop the cat followed him through the woods, up the ladder, and into the stand.

You’re welcome.

Wax on, wax off Daniel-san

My physical therapy for the left shoulder is progressing. My therapist says I’m progressing faster than he thought I would when he first evaluated me. Not too surprising to me, since the hospital kicked me to the curb within a week of the crash that caused this problem because I was doing so much more than they expected me to do in such a short time.

I’m doing some weight training as prescribed by the therapist. I’m hoping that a pleasant side effect will be me looking more like Linda Hamilton as Sarah Conner in T2.

That would be awesome!

She got there in much the same way that I’m therapy-ing my shoulder, after all.

I have handweight exercises

I have resistance band exercises.

There’s one I’ve named “chicken wings”

Because obviously.

I’m actually enjoying the exercises. They’re giving me an opportunity to use all this gear I’ve amassed trying to follow doctor’s orders to exercise so I could lose weight. I have balance balls in different sizes, a set of 3 Gaiam resistance bands, yoga mats, yoga blocks, hand weights, and kinesiology tape (that the therapist showed me how to apply), massage rollers & foot massagers & hand massagers & foam massage rollers (thank you 5 Below for making fitness gear affordable)… You get the point. That shit has been sitting in the corner, mocking me and NOBODY likes to be mocked.

Well, except for the “wax on wax off” stuff Daniel-san was subjected to in that karate kid movie.

A few of my exercise are more like mundane household tasks. I have cups I have to unstack and line up on a shelf over my head, and then restack them, all using my left arm. Then there’s the one where I have to wipe circles with a towel on a wall or door, 1 minute clockwise and 1 minute counter-clockwise. I’ve named that exercise “wax on wax off”.

I do not like “wax on wax off”. I do not like it, Sam-I-Am.

If I can’t have a little fun with my p.t. then I’m doomed to slow progress, and that’s no fun.

So “wax on wax off” it is.