stalled and kinder

I feel useless when I'm sick, and when I feel useless I feel worthless and than that conjure up all the emotions you might feel when you feel worthless and that's what attacks my mental state.

You know the feeling...when even the miniscule things are mountains.

"The grass is really tall" is mentally interpreted as, "OMG, if you don't get a weed-whacker to this NOW, you're getting kicked out and you've probably violated even the COUNTRY code of ordinance for how tall your grass can be!!"

"You have trash in your car" becomes "If anyone looked into the passenger side of your vehicle right now (the side that doesn't have a mirror screwed into the plastic doo-hicky-thing) they would assume you're a SLOB, a filthy, filthy slob. You better get those rolled up newspapers out of here PRONTO."

"The kitchen floor is sticky from the hydrogen-peroxide/vinegar mix from the Skunk Era" translates into, "You're a terrible housekeeper."

"It's February 28 and you still haven't started your seedlings" means "Your garden is screwed this year...screwed. You're late and you will not have fresh vegetables."

See what I mean?

I texted a friend this morning: "I'm trying not to be overwhelmed by my lack of productivity over the last four days."

She texted back: "It's hard to be stalled by sickness."

Stalled. It resonated with me in the pity-party moment I was in, because that's what I am. I'm temporarily slowed down, stalled, but not waylaid.

I told another friend that I realized I'm older and recovery is taking longer. Her response: "It's not a bad realization...it means we're kinder to our bodies and not impatient with ourselves."

Again, resonation.

when your dog is your nurse

Skye and I have spent the past four days in bed, save a trip to the Dollar store on Friday to get supplies for the long anticipated haul of sickness, and a trip to the urgent care clinic Sunday when the long anticipated haul of sickness turned into too-much-to-freaking-handle-on-my-own.

She rotated between the love seat (which is also her space)

to my bed, and what a great bedmate she is, especially when I'm sick and my feet are cold and she seems to know this and adjusts her body just so that she's laying on them, but not crushing them. And then they become warm.


If I woke up in my fevered haze and could not find her beside me, or four feet away from me on the love seat, I would find her next to my bed on the other side...sleeping.

She became a master at detecting by what stumble to what room I was headed to. I was allowed to pee solo, but any trip to the kitchen or beyond had to accompanied by her. She was annoying only twice when she mistook my throwing off the covers as my hearty way to greet the morning (or, in our case, the rise from our third 2-hour nap) and deciding that trampling over my body was the best way to celebrate. No, Skye, unfortunately, it is not.

So, here's to Skye, and the best nurse a girl could ask for. Unless, of course, I needed someone to bring me food or medicine or Sprite. And here's to all the friends and family who called to check on me and offer to bring me piles of stuff, and to my boss who called today to tell me to stop working from my bed, and to the doctor who "snuck me in" and told me I was too old to have ear infections (two of them!), but that strep was the preliminary culprit behind my illness.

And regretfully, this was the weekend of dear friends visiting Dallas and the Saturday we would spend together, but did not because of double ear infections and strep. I'm blowing you kisses.

Here's to health.

normal

Tonight felt very normal to me.

And not because I come home at 10 o'clock from the laundry mat every night and hang up clean curtains while the dog-who-does-not-belong-to-me watches in earnest and the dog-who-does-belong-to-me pees outside.

And not because I worked till 8:30, and will return 12 hours later (OK, maybe the first part of that sentence - the part before the comma - is normal), and not because I hung up every clean piece of clothing I have.

Those things, in my realm of normal, are abnormal.

What felt normal was taking four steps into my dining room before smelling anything offensive, and then walking through my house breathing what feels like fresh air instead of skunks, onions and vinegar.

Instead, I smelled...nothing. And when my brain didn't know how to register this nonsensical sensation and clamored to smell something , it was the coffee grounds I'd set out last night. I can handle coffee.

Oh, and I came home to electricity. Last night, in some strange twist of I-have-no-clue-what, I had none. Thankfully there's some thread of survival instinct in me. My sister, who surprised me with a surprise visit, and I visited by the glow of a flashlight and when it came time for bed, I donned a long-sleeve shirt, two sweatshirts, two pairs of PJ pants and two pairs of socks. As Texas weather would have it, tonight I'm sleeping with a couple windows open. But whatever...I'll take it.

Air out, Cottage, air. out.

neighborhood annoyance

You should get off your ass and play with me.

Um, no. But I'll bite your face.

Oh yeah?

Well, I'll paw your face.

Still not interested.

I get it! It's the quiet game.

Winning!

Y

Oh, you know

"So, Holly, what are you doing on your Saturday morning?"

Oh, you know, just my daily dog de-skunking routine and trap-checking.

Could this life get any more enchanted?

I don't know, but I'll bet I'll find out.

Basically, all the de-skunking work I did last night on the Cottage was for naught thanks to our now-daily bath in skunk-ass.

Back to square one.

Here's our celebrity skunk.
And yes, I did get close enough (with zoom) to take this picture.



There are probably more.

my nose hairs are singed

Have you ever had one of those weeks where skunks just won't leave you alone?

No?

I have.

It started Monday night.

And Tuesday it wouldn't end.

By Wednesday, you would have hoped for the end, right? I certainly was.

Thursday I was sitting at my desk and smelled a skunk. It was my necklace.

And tonight.

Oh, blessed tonight.

Skye was outside barely five minutes and was sprayed in the face. And she ran through the Cottage before I realized it, her eyes on fire.

To the dollar store I went for hydrogen peroxide, air freshener and gloves. Then I burned her with water that was too hot. And she shook and the mixture got in my eye. And now I'm trying to get the Cottage smelling right.

Why can't skunks eject a flowery odor out of their asses?

It's possible the skunks are going to make me cry.

I'm tired, exhausted really.
I always cry when I'm tired.

It's supposed to be 35 tonight; it's currently 56 in the Cottage. I have the fan going and the doors and windows open in an attempt to air everything out. I discovered that porous plastic is a trap for skunk odor so there's a lot of shit in my yard right now. By a lot, I mean, Skye's crate and several plastic tubs that were retaining skunk smell.

There's a rule in the Cottage. You retain skunk odor - you get dumped in the yard.

I washed my dishes, the few of them, because it felt good to do something simple and with tangible results. Skunk odor has rendered my cleaning efforts pointless. I just scrubbed the kitchen floor on my hands and knees with a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and dish soap. Did it work? Nah.

Tomorrow is a new day, right? A new day that does not involve going to work for the first day in several days. This is good for the rejuvination of my soul.

on mornings like these

Paragraph One: It's a beautiful morning here. I'm sitting at my desk (that isn't my permanent desk) and I'm looking out the front of the Cottage. It's a beautiful view. And I think it might be time to cut the grass. My excuse for not doing it is that, first of all, it's February. You don't mow your lawn in February. And the length of the grass adds to the mystic aura of the Cottage.

Paragraph Two: In my old age, I've learned to enjoy slow mornings. I actually like getting up a couple hours before I have to leave and start rushing. It's my time to drink coffee, listen to my favorite morning radio station, play with Skye, put away the dishes I washed the night before and pack my lunch.

Paragraph Three: Someone asked me yesterday what I do to rejuvenate myself. There isn't a magic thing. It's a lifestyle of little things added together. I read, write, I cook and clean. I take day trips and explore smaller-than-one-horse-towns. I train my dog and sit with her. I clean my car. Simple.

Paragraph Four: Skye always wants to go with me. She knows the morning will go one of two ways and she starts prepping my heart by sitting woefully by the front door with a despondent look on her face. Before I've gathered my stuff, if I say "crate" she'll sulk to her crate, get in, maybe pop back out real quick to see if I really meant it. But, if she can go with me, I don't say anything. I just get my stuff, walk towards the door and she starts spinning in circles in the air. She can't get to my car fast enough. This morning the routine started early. She won't leave my side. I guess this means she can go.