Wednesday, May 07, 2014


It's been a struggle this year. I've been having mood swings that might properly be termed bouts of depression. I haven't finished my sister's handmade Christmas present or the gift for my friend's baby daughter that I started in December. I haven't exercised since some time last year, unless occasionally hanging from the pull-up bar in the kitchen doorway counts.

And I've been working 40 hours a week, and the spring has been cold and wet and miserable when I've been off, and sunny when I'm stuck at work till 10pm, and I haven't gotten the chicken coop done or written any blog entries or kept the sink clear of dishes or anything.
By the way, we got chickens.

And then tonight, in an utterly embarrassing move, I strained my back... picking up a cat.


Basically the cat got into the basement and I don't like closing him down there sans litterbox, so I went to grab him and must have reached too far out from my crouching stance. It felt something like having a knife through my back just above my left hip, and every pain receptor in the area lit up light a christmas tree. It was not dignified and it made me feel very old and weak and tired all of a sudden. I really did not need to feel any older or tireder or weaker, but the universe has a sick sense of humor.

The ibuprofen, ice pack, menthol rub and wine are helping. And now I have the time to blog, because I can't exactly go out and do any more work on the chicken coop (although I did insist on finishing and mounting the gate to the run, despite the pain). Moving hurts, damnit. I just hope that by tomorrow I can manage at work. I do not want to have to explain that I, captain of the safety team and worker who routinely picks up and sets down 50lb boxes of tile, picked up a 5lb cat the wrong way.

The cat is fine, in case you were wondering.

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