I’m tired of rain.
Oh sure, it was all good and fine up to a point, but not now. Not in spring. Not when I have gardening to do. Not when I need electricity.
I love summer storms – the ones that roll in about mid-July and punctuate my birthday month of August.
[Note: I’m turning 50 this year and am oddly excited about it. I haven’t set up a gift registry (yet?), so feel free to ask me what I want. ]
In a proper summer storm (July and August), I’m quite content to sit somewhere and watch the pyrotechnics in the sky. I have fond memories of Chef Boy ‘R Mine and I sitting on the floor looking out the glass doors and shouting “Boom in the sky!” when the thunder and lightening rolled. He was just 2 and initially fearful of the storm – I decided to make it fun for him and fun we had. There’s no sound in the world better than baby giggles.
Storms in May are another matter entirely. I can garden in the rain, if I have to, and I’ve had to. But now, we’re at that point where I’d like to sit out there and admire my handiwork. It’s one thing to work in the rain, but to just sit out there like a garden statue while getting soaked seems a little too eccentric even for me. Especially when it’s not just rain, but torrents – the white water version of rain.
[Note: By the way, I’d like a garden Buddha for my birthday. I’ll settle for a head, but I’d be tickled with a roly poly seated Buddha.]
It seems like it’s rained forever. Coming off the Winter from Hell, I am sick-to-death of stuff that makes my power go out. So, if I can’t sit in the garden at my table with the fabulous floral centerpiece, I’d like to be here, cruising the web, maybe watch a movie and catch up with friends on Skype. Can’t do that either. It would be nice to be able to cook dinner. Baths by candlelight are sensuous and wonderful (even alone), but you can only sit in the bathtub for so long.
Candlelight is not quite as romantic alone.
I can’t do laundry which has piled up to the ceiling during the great 2009 Gardenpalooza. Can’t vacuum. The batteries in my Itty Bitty Book Light have died. I’m getting cranky. What’s worse is that the power comes and goes. Just when I think it’s come back on, I lose it again. Living in a clearing in the middle of a forest, I’ve learned the inevitability of power outages during any kind of inclement weather, but that on/off stuff wears on my nerves.
Weather Dude says this pattern could last through the weekend. I’m not sure how many days in a row we’ve had rain, officially, but it seems like 971. I’ve had enough. I’m positively pruney (and not from marathon baths).
I am tired of rain. Really. Now, the laptop battery is dying (goodbye Freecell!). I’ll post this when the power comes back on for good or if it stays on long enough to do so.
Sigh.
My former refuge.
Menopause is a bitch.
It’s 4 a.m. I woke up because I was thirsty and now I can’t get back to sleep.
I have always been a champion sleeper.
Not these days.
Before it all began.
Menopause is puberty in reverse and upside down. I’m moody. I break-out. I’m hot. I’m cold. I don’t sleep well. My body is changing. I’m neurotic. (OK, I’ve mostly always been neurotic.)
Remember when you were a teenager and stayed up ‘til all hours of the night and slept all day? That wasn’t because you were special, it was a brain thing. The emerging research is all over teenagers and sleep patterns. I figure in a few years they’ll get around to menopausal women – women are always last.
I bitched and carried on for months about what I thought was the fact that no one told me about the sleep thing. Hot flashes, sure. Night sweats, yup. Mood swings, check. Irregular periods, got it. Can’t sleep?
Not a word.
Or so I thought. A friend told me that she had indeed told me, but folks don’t seem to pick up on the sleep disorder part. It could be that we’re too horrified by the hot flash thing.
Note the sullen look. Puberty is also a bitch.
I haven’t really had a hot flash yet. The night sweats just started so, more ’n’ likely, they’re on the horizon, but I can’t imagine that anything is worse than this sleep thing. Or the morning sickness part.
Oh yeah, I’m one of the small percentage of women who are “morning sick” during menopause. I retch and gag, almost as if on cue, every morning that I manage to sleep until a decent hour.
Apparently, my body will inflict suffering one way or the other.
Sleep was my first form of refuge.
Naps. I love naps.
Long, lazy, drool on the pillow naps in afternoon light.
I love crawling into bed with a good book early in the evening and reading myself to sleep. Only now, some times, I’ll finish half the novel before sleep takes me. It didn’t used to be this way.
In one of Stephen King’s novels, I think, there is a line something like “I have become an old woman who doesn’t sleep in the night.”
I have become an old woman. . .
Who doesn’t sleep in the night.
Menopause is a bitch.
Connie has the tools and understands the process, but still can't do it.
For years, I did not know who wrote You are wrong because… Now that I do, it seems obvious. However, it seems like there should be something in this list about committees and group projects. To wit: you are wrong because you assumed a group of people followed through to the logical conclusion.
I do not understand how it is that we can design a jack that allows wimpy me to lift my car partially off the ground and, thoughtfully, to provide that marvel of engineering with the twinky spare tire, but fail to provide a means of getting the lug nuts off that isn’t reliant on brute strength. In short, because I am not a big lug, I cannot de-lug. How hard could it be has felled me again. When I rule the world, things will be different.
W. Va. Fur and Root 