Different Kind of Shaky and Not Shakey's Pizza Either
This morning was Jim's usual Tuesday morn. Two hours at the physical therapy office with me reading and shivering in the sub zero temps. I kid, but I have learned I have to have on real pants and a sweater when I walk in the door because they keep that clinic very well air conditioned and my Cajun blood now registers anything below 80 degrees as winter.
Jim is better. Finally, thankfully, even if I'm not wild about his mutterings about soon riding his motorcycle. He's still does not have control and strength enough in his left arm to do it.
It just shoots the morning when we go in for the pt since it isn't in Tama and we usually have a few stops for errands afterward.
After lunch today I had planned on spending the afternoon in the guesthouse cleaning. It didn't go well because I ended up having to scrub paint splatters off every surface of the place, the new rug, the new surfboard coffee table, the refrigerator, you name it has teensy droplets of either white, light turquoise or medium turquoise paint. Jim's been doing some touch up painting and made the biggest hellacious mess.
I found myself getting angrier and angrier as time went on, having thoughts about what a useless lazy bastard Jim is for slinging paint everywhere. I kept getting ramped up even as I got the paint off, grumbling and cursing.
Didn't help that Stinky exhibited exactly how he comes and goes as he pleases in the guesthouse. He squeezes his skinny ass through the half open jalouise windows. He's knocked out one of the glass plains.
It wasn't until I'd drug my sweaty swearing self back to the house that I started having asthma. You'd think by now I'd know when I get that crazed over normal things that I'd realize what it was. Irrational anger almost always is the start of a big attack. Neb time and the shakes.
The rest of the afternoon I rested and made chicken soup. There are a few new things wrong with the guesthouse, the electric sockets on one wall suddenly do not work no matter how many times I reset the breakers. We've also had a few hooks for paintings come awry. But overall we're mostly done with everything but the ceiling repaint.
No further word on the Great Box Scandal beyond we've been approved to get our sentimental things on a salvage ticket. No word on when. I hope it's soon.
I see all these Marie Kondo and Christopher Lowell and their fans talking about less is more and uncluttering your life. Maybe for some people, but we need our things. We're just now living here, no longer just rattling around in a house with few furnishings.
Oh, and I sprayed and beat the tar out of a hornet's nest in the middle of my rage fit. It was most satisfying.
Jim is better. Finally, thankfully, even if I'm not wild about his mutterings about soon riding his motorcycle. He's still does not have control and strength enough in his left arm to do it.
It just shoots the morning when we go in for the pt since it isn't in Tama and we usually have a few stops for errands afterward.
After lunch today I had planned on spending the afternoon in the guesthouse cleaning. It didn't go well because I ended up having to scrub paint splatters off every surface of the place, the new rug, the new surfboard coffee table, the refrigerator, you name it has teensy droplets of either white, light turquoise or medium turquoise paint. Jim's been doing some touch up painting and made the biggest hellacious mess.
I found myself getting angrier and angrier as time went on, having thoughts about what a useless lazy bastard Jim is for slinging paint everywhere. I kept getting ramped up even as I got the paint off, grumbling and cursing.
Didn't help that Stinky exhibited exactly how he comes and goes as he pleases in the guesthouse. He squeezes his skinny ass through the half open jalouise windows. He's knocked out one of the glass plains.
It wasn't until I'd drug my sweaty swearing self back to the house that I started having asthma. You'd think by now I'd know when I get that crazed over normal things that I'd realize what it was. Irrational anger almost always is the start of a big attack. Neb time and the shakes.
The rest of the afternoon I rested and made chicken soup. There are a few new things wrong with the guesthouse, the electric sockets on one wall suddenly do not work no matter how many times I reset the breakers. We've also had a few hooks for paintings come awry. But overall we're mostly done with everything but the ceiling repaint.
No further word on the Great Box Scandal beyond we've been approved to get our sentimental things on a salvage ticket. No word on when. I hope it's soon.
I see all these Marie Kondo and Christopher Lowell and their fans talking about less is more and uncluttering your life. Maybe for some people, but we need our things. We're just now living here, no longer just rattling around in a house with few furnishings.
Oh, and I sprayed and beat the tar out of a hornet's nest in the middle of my rage fit. It was most satisfying.
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