Oh My Mother Fucking God

There is a new bulldozer banging around right outside my back door.

Because why wouldn’t there be?


Herding cats

It’s one of those days when I feel like I’m just herding cats put here.

  • We talked yesterday about Mr B’s latest weapon in his never-ending attack on mother nature
  • I’m hanging laundry out to dry and trip over a fucking tractor attachment
  • Sunshine is rearranging all the things outside because apparently, Mr B needs to move dirt in the area behind our little house. Again.
  • My phone is having difficulty uploading pictures since the latest somethingsomething update attacked.
  • During the process of moving shit from behind out house so Mr B can move dirt there (again), part of my she-shed got taken over by a fucking chair Sunshine uses in one of his 4826553940753884635259 hunting stands. He had set it up in the middle of the living room floor and declared that a great place for the chair. I moved it to a better great place–outside. Which prompted a round of passive-aggressive bitching from Sunshine about it photodegrading outside in the sun. I reached a point of “anything to shut this asshole up” and shoved it in my she-shed until I have enough spoons to think up the greatest place of all to put the fucking chair.
  • The neighbor has brought over a giant green tractor to pressure was in front of my house. When I say big, I mean stupid big, but my phone isn’t uploading pics right now so I can’t show you the big green tractor that is as tall as my house.
  • Sunshine spilled yogurt in the floor trying to eat pizza. Herding cats, I tell you.
  • I have gotten a bit overheated and am now lying in the floor with my head resting on my giant floor pillow that Mollie declared was HER floor pillow

Hope your day is more fun than herding cats.


I hate it when someone mansplains some shit to me. I also hate it when someone ignores my chronic health issues or discounts them or whatever, simply because I “don’t look sick” or #whatthefuckever.

This past weekend, I had it happen. Not once. Twice. One of the incidents was perpetrated by my very own husband, FFS.

Some background. I have COPD. I’m anemic. I’m going through the perimenopause hormonal shit. I’m going through physical therapy. I’m going through a medication protocol that leaves me fatigued as fuck. I struggle with depression and anxiety. I’m a recovering addict. In short, I’m a hot ass mess, don’t fucking fuck with me.

Add in the heat and humidity we’ve been coping with and really, seriously, don’t fucking fuck with me, motherfucker.

Our little house is well insulated, so we stay reasonably cool in here most of the day. However, once the sun comes above the trees and starts pounding on the southern end of the house, it gets warm on that end of the house. Come late afternoon, we’ve been pounded by the cosmic death ray to the point where the southern end of the house is hot, right about the same time i need to start firing up the stove or oven to make some dinner.

The one window unit air-conditioner in the bedroom at the opposite end of the house? Isn’t cutting it. Not even close.

When i brought up the subject with Sunshine, asking if he would see if Uncle Rude Ass would loan or sell us one of his portable air-conditioning units to use in our living room, Sunshine had the fucking gall to tell me it wasn’t hot in here, and he started telling everyone we don’t need a second air-conditioner. Being the grown-up I’m trying to be, I stayed reasonably calm even though I was searching the stratosphere for the top of my head.

Later that same day, I got tired of waiting for Sunshine to talk to Uncle Rude Ass and went outside in the heat & humidity to do it myself.

Let’s just say that Uncle Rude Ass & Sunshine are lucky to be alive. Because when Uncle Rude Ass told me it wasn’t hot in my living room, the top of my head that was floating in the stratosphere exploded into shrapnel that is now passing the heavenly body formerly known as the planet Pluto. I somehow managed to stay very, very, very rational and calm when I told him I was sick of men telling me it wasn’t hot in here when I was not exercising and was still sweating my ass off.

What is the moral of this story? Fuck if I know, except maybe “don’t fucking fuck with me, motherfucker”.

Here are some takeaways, though:

  • Sunshine studies neuroscience, philosophy, and fringe science, so he of all people knows that we all experience things differently and that if I say it’s too hot in here then that is a valid statement that doesn’t need him to mansplain some shit to me
  • Uncle Rude Ass is just a Rude Ass and doesn’t know any better since he doesn’t study fringe science and shit like Sunshine does
  • Mansplaining bad
  • Chronic illness can’t always be seen
  • Chronic pain doesn’t always have visible manifestations
  • Read this shit or some other shit about perimenopause, because there’s a fucking ton of shit out there, and it wreaks havoc on women
  • Empathy good, try it sometime
  • COPD bad
  • Cool air good for COPD and science has proved it

Now, I’m off to try and find the top-of-my-head shrapnel floating past the heavenly body formerly known as Pluto.

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.

Not enough spoons

I worked last weekend, both Saturday and sound. It was not nice, because this is July in Texas, and I have COPD + other conditions that leave me fatigued.

I also worked the 4th of July. By the time I got home, I had no spoons. I had to have help getting out of the car, and I collapsed in the floor and wouldn’t get up. I’m told that the dog sat there and stared at me until bedtime, when Sunshine tried to make me get up and go to bed. I wouldn’t go to bed; I was sticky and smelly and covered in dirt and fruit juice and bits of vegetable.

Thursday morning, I managed to pack Sunshine a lunch, then I collapsed on the couch and took a nap. I got up and started sorting scrapbooking supplies until they made some sort of sense. Sunshine’s niece Emmy came over and went through my scrapbook paper stash for a while. I’m told I napped with my head in Mollie’s dog bed and my body in the floor for most of the afternoon.

I have never in my life been that exhausted. I came close once, when I was a stagehand, but that still wasn’t like what happened to me this week. I spent some time in deep conversation with my sponsor, because I’m totally not used to feeling like that and it doesn’t sit well with me. Physically, it’s not like I had much choice; I literally had trouble raising my hand enough to reach the turn signal on the way home. My sponsor gave me some suggestions (which is recovery-speak for orders) on how to get through this very rough patch I’m going through trying to treat so many health problems all at once. Some of the medicines are kicking my ass, but I don’t have to take them forever; so I’m actually grateful for the suggestions she gave me.

I’m so fatigued lately that it’s been hard to come up with posts, and I apologize for that. Hopefully, I can remedy that this week.