The Curmudgeon won’t openly admit it but #Twitler has him scared. He’s terrified of losing our only income, the cost of his care going through the roof, and so much more.
It’s not like we don’t already have enough to worry about.
The Curmudgeon’s shirt today
I was going to test out my new weed wacker…
Yep, such is my life.
Five minutes into clearing the tall grasses and weeds on the pond bump in the yard and my battery powered weed wacker went dead. Completely, totally DEAD. I switched batteries and it was still dead.
I ordered a corded one that will arrive on Friday. No more batteries dying on me and no heavy gas trimmer to lug around.
Now if only my aching back and the weather will cooperate I should have everything trimmed by Sunday for sure. And it will look like this:
I managed to plant the petunias in the rocking chair pot.
I ask you to forgive me for not being able to have you here with us for the last few summers you were alive. Believe me when I say we really did miss having you here.
Problem was, things got awful hectic, what with The Curmudgeon’s health getting worse and his mother taking a lot of my time and energy.
And every time you visited you landed in the hospital because it’s PA and, well, …allergies. I didn’t have the energy to deal with it on top of all the rest.
I stressed out so badly the last time you were here and landed in the hospital, that someone dear to both of us suggested to me that for my health and sanity I needed to say no.
But I kept calling you, I did…no one would let me talk to you.
I love you Mom. 7/31/1915-1/1/2007
Having so much on my mind, so many things to remember, has made me the absent minded professor.
Also there’s The Curmudgeon who gets great joy out of pushing my buttons, making me angry enough that my brain stutters.
I would love some peace and quiet. A place to escape to but at the rate we’re going that will never happen.
For months and months I tried to like it, really I did.
I just purely and simply do not like it.
What was simple became convoluted and a royal pain.
Two dogs make a lot of noise.
One dog not so much.
Turns out that old Gavin was the noisier of the two even though Lucy tends to bark more.
Lucy was looking for him today.
Maybe she’ll fix this chronic cough. She’s sending me for some pulmonary tests since she did a peak flow test on me and I didn’t do great on it. First time I’ve done one.
I never did test well.
Always hated tests, and the two others she has lined up for me rank at about #1 and #2 in tests I don’t want, know I should have, and my old doctor hasn’t ordered them done in many years.
Maybe I should have worn this shirt?
My magnolia tree didn’t put on its finery this spring. We’ve barely a dozen flowers on the tree. Instead of loads of blossoms the tree has started with leaves. So very saddening.
At least I have the pictures from previous years.
It’s painful to watch The Curmudgeon allow himself to circle the drain. His doctors have recommended exercise, physical therapy, and even swimming.
He refuses saying they only make him hurt more.
Fine. If you’re determined to do a slow death spiral, go ahead, but I refuse to be a part of it.
I will no longer participate in your idiocy.
I refuse to be egged into daily battles.
In the meantime, I intend to work on my health and well-being.