It is raining again. Spring! This year it is only partially the problem it has been in the past because our Internet provider, doing routine maintenance in the area, unknowingly finally fixed the issue we had every time it got wet outside. They didn’t believe us that there was an issue. Perfect timing, too, because we’re dependent on it for our livelihoods now.
Writing jobs come and go. They have a lovely pattern to them. A new one always seems to come along just as an old one runs out or becomes more a burden than a joy. As do other jobs. My partner and I are helping out my stepfather with his lawn crew. We can use the money and he needs the help. However, my partner was a maintenance man forever and I don’t even mow our own lawn any longer, so we weren’t exactly looking forward to the job itself.
Then we got out there and everything came together brilliantly. We were like a well oiled machine. They mowed while I ate weeds. We blazed through four very large properties in five and a half hours, all of us pleasantly surprised.
It was one of those really good days. It wasn’t too hot or cold. The sun was out. I love physical labor, showing I can keep up with the men. And I had the toughest job on the crew. I even won a few dollars on a lottery ticket, something that never happens.
I didn’t have to pay for my happiness until we arrived home. The bill: three blisters on my toes, which feel like they’ve been peeled. Funny, I’ve hiked in those boots for far longer than I wore them that day and not had a problem. I can’t lift my arms. I’m SORE. I like being sore from working or working out, because my illness has made me feel so generally weak, tired and awful that it is a relief to feel bad and know the reason why, to have gotten something from it. Of course, one foot went bad on me, but it was better by the next morning.
Speaking of blisters, I failed to note that my bike ride, in addition to nearly killing me, did a nasty thing to my lady parts. That has also never happened before. Maybe I sat funny once I could no longer gather an ounce of strength.
Running the weedeater was great for my arms and back. I should be huge by the time summer is over. If I make it. I told J that if it never gets over fifty degrees, all will be well. Once the heat kicks in, I’ll be psychotic. This all serves to make me question yet again how the fat show manages to have people exercise hard for six hours a day and still look like they are fresh and happy for interviews, contests, what have you. I’m beginning to suspect drugs are involved.
Back to the rain, we’re going to have to dig ditches and create a dike system in the garden again because, looking out the window, I can see the standing water all over the yard. A few years ago, our weather changed. Since then, we’ve been living in the swamps on our little hilltop. We have had to garden previously knee deep in water and mud. If my partner wasn’t familiar with the tricks of the Aztecs and unique farmers across the world, we’d grow nothing.