Overdone

I am overdone right now. I am so completely out of spoons it isn’t even funny. It’s definitely summer in Texas.

Mr B and I got out in the garden Thursday and tag teamed the weeds and grass. He ran the weedeater while I crawled around pulling weeds and grass by hand in the places he couldn’t run the weedeater. Then we picked blackberries. Then I worked 10 hours yesterday, and it was stupid hot.

I have been handed a reminder that, no matter how normal I have felt since the antidepressants started working, my body still has limits; and that there is a very heavy price for pushing those limits.

It’s Monday

It’s Monday, which is normally my Saturday.

I know, it makes no sense.

I normally work on Fridays and Sundays, which makes Friday my Monday and Sunday my Friday, and Mondays are usually my Saturdays. However, I worked every day this past weekend, and I’m working this morning. I don’t know what day it is supposed to be for me.

I’m tired. I slept the sleep of the dead last night, and I’m still tired this morning.

I’m supposed to be learning to can jam today or tomorrow, and I don’t know if I have it in me. I have too many other things on the list, and I only have so many spoons. I am going to have to prioritize, which is easier said than done. I need to flash freeze some backdoor fruit, but I have no room in the freezers. If I made jam out of the blackberries, I’d have room in the freezer. I have a garden that I need to walk through and harvest what’s ready, but I have no room in my fridge because there’s too much backdoor fruit and squash from the neighbors in there. Even if I did have the spoons, I don’t know where I would even start.

side note: making jam would be the obvious choice. It would free up a lot of freezer space and get these cases of canning jars out of my way inside my house. Then I could flash freeze all this shit in my fridge. After that I could harvest stuff from my garden, at which point I’d have to start the cycle all over again.

I’m starting to talk in circles, aren’t I?

Let’s start a new circle, shall we?

Household chores. Thank heaven I cleaned this place within an inch of its life last week. It means I can hit the high spots this week and pray that next weekend doesn’t turn out like this past one so that I can get some rest and be ready for my own life next week instead of having to be the only adult at the produce stand. Laundry is so backed up it’s scary, and I actually managed to get a load done over the course of the last three days. Now I just have to fold it before I head to work this morning. Sunshine just brought me over a gallon of hydrogen peroxide leftovers that he bought for a job cleaning some mildew stains off of some very light colored stone columns; I’m not sure what the fuck I’m going to do with that shit but I am sure that we shouldn’t have to buy peroxide for the next millennium.

I’ve got to squeeze in an appointment with my primary soon, too. I still haven’t gotten a call from the mental health provider to get me started there, so I’m relying on my primary to keep me in meds until I can get in at mental health.

I’m completely ignoring the elephant in the middle of our house build site. I just can’t think about that today. I’ll worry about that tomorrow; after all, tomorrow is another day.

Chronic…

It’s one of those weeks when I’m really reminded that I have a chronic condition. My COPD and anemia have me feeling fatigued. The overabundance of things needing my attention combined with my job and the heat/humidity have me exhausted on top of the fatigue. I’m also STILL hurting in my back and hip from the great septic system debacle, which only serves to drain me further.

I can’t drop dead just yet. My boss is going out of town for the weekend, so I have to work all day for the next three days. In the heat and humidity. 

I had planned on resting today. Ass, meet couch. Ass and couch, meet Netflix.

I really need to stop making plans.

Last night, Sunshine made a shitty comment in a shitty tone of voice: “well you could help me out sometimes” (referring to our house construction). I ignored it at the time.

Today, I tried to watch Netflix. But I couldn’t get that shitty comment in that shitty tone out of my head. So I dragged my COPD/anemic/fatigued/exhausted/hurting ass down the hill and sanded the exterior door to prep it for stain and sealer. Then I sanded the exterior door casings to prep them for stain and sealer.

Of course, the hours I spent sanding on those doors will come off the end of my life. I spent spoons I didn’t have to help Sunshine realize his dream of building a house. 

I’ll probably wind up resorting to steroids to get me through the next three days at work. I’ll probably have to resort to steroids to get me through learning to can jam on Monday, too. 

Side note: my neighbor is some kind of canning and cooking genius, and has graciously offered to teach me to can jam.

I’m exhausted, I’m fatigued, and there’s no rest for the wicked this weekend.

Final note: I have chosen what to name the house and Sunshine gets no say in it. None. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. “El descanso del diablo”. Or “la Paz del diablo”. Either/or. They each mean “devil’s rest” in Spanish, with subtly different nuances. I shall name that house Devil’s​ Rest, and I shall name it in Spanish. I just haven’t yet decided which subtlety to use.

Weekly Progress Report: The Saturday Edition

I’m tired. It’s that time of year, when heat/pollen/dust all work together with my COPD and anemia to leave me really tired. I’ve been doing my best to power through it, and most days I do OK. Some days, I just stay my happy ass on the couch and allow myself the luxury of rest and healing (since my back and hip still haven’t healed from the great septic system debacle because I’m mostly on my own with the fucking garden).

Sunshine got a new compost heap containment fence put up. I took this week’s “backdoor fruit” and put it in there. Now we can let the original compost heap turn into compost so that we can use it in our garden next spring.

As soon as it quits raining, I’ll be using some of the leftover roll of fencing to make trellis for my new beans to cling to for support as they grow.

roll of wire fence for beans

I have beans and things sprouting up all over the place, and they are going to need some support.

We got the tomato plants tied to stakes so that they don’t die under the crushing weight of their fruits like my snap beans are trying to do because they had no support for so long.

staked tomatoes

Yes, I know. Our garden is growing in the middle of a field of grass. Mr B has been too preoccupied with moving dirt to create a place to build a shop, and hasn’t been back to the garden with a tractor since he created the extra rows where we planted beans. I’ve got enough on my plate with work, household chores, and preserving what DOES manage to grow in the middle of that field of grass; I can’t be everything all the time. Maybe after we get the house finished, Sunshine (and perhaps even Biff) can help more with the garden.

We are out of room in the freezers. Thank heaven Mr B’s mom has offered to trade us her large chest freezer for the small one she donated to us a few months ago. Now, if I could just get someone to take the small one to her and bring back the big one, I could get started on some serious reorganization of our already frozen vegetables and blackberries. The situation has gone well past the point of being dire, and is only going to be exacerbated by all of the fruit I’m going to freeze this week to make jelly or syrup or something. Eventually, I’ll be pulling the fruit back out of the freezer; until then, I get to teach myself to play an awesome game of tetris.

It’s been a busy week out here in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. And it looks to stay that way through Thanksgiving at least. I’ll eventually get it all figured out, or get some help, or something. Until then, I’ll do the best I can.

 

It’s that time of year

It’s starting to get really hot here in Texas. The temperatures aren’t that bad, high 80s to mid 90s, but when the humidity is factored in….

It exhausts me.

Well, that’s not true.

I am exhausted by all of the labor. I’ve picked blackberries until I look like I fought in the zombie apocalypse. I have preserved those blackberries, all by myself. I have preserved cauliflower, broccoli, green onions, and squashes…mostly alone. I have planted parts of the garden alone. I have sliced and chopped fruit and dehydrated it…mostly alone. I also work my ass off at my job on Fridays and Sundays. That alone is enough to exhaust me. My COPD means that I have no stamina.

To do all of that shit in heat and humidity, with a chronic and progressive lung condition…and to do so much of it alone?

I’m tired. I’m tired on so many levels. My body aches, my mind is functioning slowly, and my spirit is sagging.

It’s that time of year.

I need a nap.

I’m still on strike

I’ve taken myself off of most of the meds they gave me for my back injury. It still hurts, sometimes a lot, but I can at least function (more or less). However, I am not attempting to go back to full function with my fingers in all of the pies. I’m not cutting grass, I’m not taking food to the compost pile, I’m not planting things in the garden, and I’m not even doing a lot of physical labor on our little house build.

However, somebody isn’t on strike around here. Two days ago, I was surprised to hear the sound of a lawnmower in my yard. I wandered outside, and I discovered that Sunshine had gotten out my trusty freegan lawnmower from last summer and gotten it cranked. It wasn’t cutting the grass very well because the grass was as out of control as it has ever been here.

side note: saying that the grass was as out of control as it has ever been out here is saying a lot. This place had been abandoned for a couple of years when Mr B purchased it. It LOOKED like it had been abandoned for several years. It was gross and I am very disappointed in myself that I don’t have pictures of the jungle that was growing here back then.

Just for a bit of proof that I’m not making this shit up, this is what the grass looked like while Sunshine was cranking the lawnmower.

very tall grass

I should have snapped some pics of the giant, bushy, very tall clumps of clover and shit that were in the middle of the backyard. Alas, I forgot. Take my word for it, it made the shit in this pic look small.

The lawnmower wasn’t cutting the grass, and Sunshine was getting frustrated with it. I don’t know why on earth he dicked with it for so long when we live ACROSS THE STREET FROM A GUY THAT FIXES SHIT but whatever, Biff got tired of watching Sunshine scowl as he rode the lawnmower around the yard and took it from him.

Biff finally got the lawnmower to cut grass (don’t ask me how, I went inside because my back was hurting).

somebody cut some grass

Of course, he ran out of gas before he could finish the job, so now the lawnmower sits abandoned under my clothesline. And as usual, no weedeating got done. The grass around the magic bus is even taller than the grass around that propane tank. Because everybody wants to ride the lawnmower but nobody wants to use the weedeater.

final note: there’s a whole comedic post just begging to be written about the lonely neglected weedeater, but it won’t be written by me. I’m still on strike. I’m seriously on strike, and I don’t care if I get chiggers or if the grass gets taller than me. My back STILL FUCKING HURTS from the great septic system debacle and I’m not eager to put any more hurting on my body. It’s peak “I have no spoons” season, so I’m having to focus all of my energy on simple respiration.

I am my mother’s child…

So anxiety has been kicking my ass lately. It’s so bad that Sunshine pretty much ordered me to seek professional help. I have an appointment with my primary (for allergies) on Thursday, and the receptionist told me to mention the anxiety to the doctor so that I could get a referral to the mental health care provider. I’m pretty sure that the meds I was taking for the back pain plus the steroid nose spray for allergies contributed to the explosion in anxiety. All that shit is slowly flushing out of my system, so the anxiety is lessening incrementally. I’m still going to get that referral, because Sunshine is right. There are proven methods of dealing with this, and it’s time I tried letting a professional help me.

Today, the anxiety wasn’t too bad until I wandered outside. I got hit by some nasty humidity and now my COPD is showing its ass and that’s causing the anxiety to ratchet back up. Time out for more fun.

In spite of all of the COPD and allergy woes, in spite of the anxiety, I actually feel like cleaning house today. It needs it desperately, and I actually seem to have the spoons for it.

This is where the part about being my mother’s child comes into play. Mom was more than a little bit OCD about keeping a clean house when I was a kid.

side note: I get it, actually. Sometimes, life is just so fucking much, and a clean house is something I can absolutely control. Well, maybe I can’t control Sunshine’s efforts to keep it from being clean, but I can absolutely control how long it stays borked after he borks it. There’s a weird sort of comfort in cleaning my house.

I often rebel against all that OCD cleaning I lived through. I notice dust on the entertainment center, and I want to clean it but I force myself to ignore it. However, that only goes on for so long before I can’t stop myself and I start cleaning. Today is that moment for me.

Yesterday sucked ass. Storms, fatigue, back ache, Sunshine out of town for the day… So I sat here and played around on the internet and texted with my bestest best friend ever. I also bought two pairs of slip-on sneakers, because I have resolved that slip-on sneakers are my new stilettos and I intend to own many many pairs of beautiful slip-on sneakers.

side note: I got a hell of a deal on them. I had the cash to spare, and they will actually get a lot of use. I’ve finally let go of the me I used to be with my sky-high heels and embraced something that works for my life as it is today.

I think I’m digressing, which is apparently a problem today. I have made it my mission to clean my house, and I have tweeted out a call to #thebloggesstribe to hold me accountable. They offered immediate support and some helpful suggestions about doing it in small, easily digestible bites with frequent breaks. Which was brilliant advice that I needed to hear.

I made it through making the bed and putting on not-PJs and then I got distracted by progress at our little house build site. I was down there snapping pics until my phone died. I brought my phone back to the magic bus to charge and promptly forgot to return and use Sunshine’s phone to take more pics because I started cleaning the kitchen because I am my mother’s child and am twitching over how dirty some parts of my house are after a weekend of guests and yesterday’s rain.

Of course, every trip outside is causing the humidity to send my lungs into fits, which starts ratcheting up the anxiety, which causes me to seek distractions, which leads me down rabbit holes on twitter and my favorite shoe shopping site. Hence this post.

Ultimately, I’ll get up and finish cleaning the house. Because it really is gross by my mom’s standards, and I am my mother’s child.

final note: I am actually proud of being my mother’s child. I am oddly comforted by all the quirks I see in myself that I know came from mom and nobody else but mom. Some of those quirks are annoying as fuck, and I don’t care. I am my mother’s child, and I’m fucking grateful beyond words for that.