It's been a week already, and it's only Monday. My ass is dragging so far behind me that I swear when I drove back to the office after lunch I passed my ass on the road. It was just now headed to the house.
It's Inventory time, my quarterly slice of hell. I say that not because I hate counting catheters and dressings but because I have to do three more hours of work a day in addition to my day that's already so full I'm falling behind faster than a third grader in college-level Advanced Calculus. Needless to say I'm falling farther behind. I've given up seeing my ass for the next two weeks.
See how tired I am? Even my lame jokes are lamer than usual.
One more week of this, and it's over. For another quarter. Maybe then I can get back to reading the blogs of my friends, perhaps even leave some witty comments. If I can get my wits back. At this point I'm really starting to wonder.
Spring is beating a hasty retreat again. The fierce winter storms that are gripping the middle of the country are sending us solid days of nothing but fast north winds, pushing the temps back into freezing, which means another delay to putting my garden in and a bathroom full of seedlings (cucumber, squash and bell peppers, if you're curious.) Umquayquay got into the trash this evening and I fussed at her pretty extensively. Seeing my fairly clean garage filled with two bags of shredded trash does that to me after a very exhausting day. She, remembering past abuse and abandonment took it VERY personally and has decided to stay at a good distance from me, wouldn't even go to the chicken coop with me which has become her favourite ritual. Even when I brought out her little all-night heater (a plastic disk that, when microwaved for 5 minutes gives nice heat for 12 hours) and put it in her bed wrapped in an old blanket for her she wouldn't enter the garage, wouldn't think about approaching her big pile of hay and warm blanket. She'll likely sleep under my Mom's house, safe but very cold. It's killing me. It's parenting all over, but this time I can't even talk to her about it. Ground that I took careful pains to gain has been lost, to be regained only slowly again.
I couldn't even get a good picture of the cows on the corner pasture coming home. When I drove by after work they were all in the field, scattered widely, each faced into the wind, grazing with bovine contentment. It was the neatest thing--all these big dark shapes turned into the wind like some sort of biological wind farm, immense-bodied weather vanes. I parked the bike, they were uncaring. I got off the bike and took off helmet, gloves and balaclava. They were unconcerned. I unpacked the camera, turned it on, set it, uncapped the lens cap, they were unmoved. Hadn't even looked up at me. I stepped across the ditch to get up against their fence so I wouldn't get five feet of barbed wire in the shot and they, as one, turned and ran, regrouped into a solid mass of angry dark faces staring back at me. I hung around long enough for them to break apart at least a LITTLE bit, but it wasn't nearly the same.
Thursday evening is the last bit of Inventory, the day it all returns to normal. I've taken off Friday for a Mental Health day and to take the bike to the bike shop up the road about an hour to get a new tire put on the back before it blows out, and the weather is promising overcast skies and a good chance of rain.
Wake me when it's Summer?