Archive for April, 2012

Oh, Great. Now It’s Quasimodo Time

A sudden paroxysm of coughing doubled me over this afternoon while feeding and carrying 5-gallon feed buckets. When it was over, I had trouble straightening up. Oh, snap. I pulled a muscle somewhere in my left hip/back area, and it hurts like a sumbitch. I’m walking around all zombie like, trying to swing my leg without using my hip or back. I’ve still got a low-grade fever of 100 at night.

Thank God we don’t have a video camera, or there would undoubledly be videos of me on YouTube taken by SwampMan trying to navigate around the yard with feed buckets while coughing, cursing, and trying to make my gimpy leg behave.

I may have to take another day off work tomorrow which worries me. I need all my sick days to take care of sick relatives!

So, now I’m wondering why SwampMan went to bed but, before he did, he turned on WWE for me. Why WWE? Why Monday Night Raw? Maybe it’s supposed to be inspirational. YES! I will kick flu’s ASS. I will kick WWE’s ass, too. Ummmm. I will put them in a time out until they can use nice words to each other. Well. Maybe next week.

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The Sweet Tea Diet

This is the first time in three days that I’ve been awake for more than an hour or two at a time! I’m pretty sure now that I had a “flu” attack. The symptoms fit. I started with a dry cough out of the blue, so to speak, Friday afternoon which I attributed to pollen. I felt fine all day, but a little tired toward the end of the workday. By Friday night, I was sore all over and felt fairly horrid. By Saturday, I was so tired I could barely function and had a high fever. I’m just glad I had my flu shot this year because it could have been worse!

This morning, I dreamed that I was speaking with a coworker. I told him that I wasn’t really there, because I was really at home asleep. He told me that “No, I really WAS there.” I looked down at my fawn-colored dress and bright orange high-heeled shoes, and concluded that I must be there after all. I pinched myself (in my dream) to make sure I was really there, and it hurt! Then we started a debate about what constituted reality. I dunno what the answer was, for SwampMan woke me up to apologize for waking me up, but he couldn’t reach anybody at my workplace to tell them I wouldn’t be there, and he had to leave for work. I would have liked to have known the answer to that question because I haven’t had that dress for YEARS and I don’t think I ever had a pair of orange high-heeled shoes, and the dress and shoes were perfect together. Why didn’t I know that before?

The good part about the flu is that I have no appetite whatsoever and am happy just drinking sweet tea. I figured that since my physical activity was nil, I probably gained weight during that time, but a check on the scale revealed that I was down 5 lbs. Woohoo!

So there you have it. You can lose five pounds in three days on the flu and sweet tea diet. (The sweet tea came from McDonald’s courtesy of SwampMan, who kept me well supplied. I wasn’t up to even boiling water for the past few days.)

Maybe I should write a diet book and/or go out into public and spread my virus around. On the other hand, a primo appetite-destroying virus with the side effect of strange, vivid dreams like this shouldn’t be spread about for free. I should at least charge as much as a movie admission with a Coke and small popcorn. Grin. Unfortunately, I know that as soon as the viral effects wear off, I’ll be back to eating Greek yogurt for breakfast and salads with gluten-free dressing and boiled eggs for lunch again.

Oh, by the way, if you take gauaifenesin tablets to keep bronchitis and pneumonia at bay, which I have been doing, never EVER pop a pill without checking to see if your sweet tea in the McDonald’s cup in the fridge is full or empty. That pill is some nasty-tasting shit and if you suck up a big old strawful of nothing in an attempt to swallow that huge nasty tasting pill, you could have some unfortunate sequelae.

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Occupy Seizes University Research Farm

They’re, uh, gonna “farm”. Sustainably and organically and all that crap. They’re going to do it with (donated? stolen?) seedlings from nurseries that are probably hybrids. Heh.

I think that every one of those occupiers should be sentenced to one year hard labor on the seized research farm in which they have to produce all their own food without purchased seedlings and using only hand tools. I’m sure that the bleeding hearted amongst us would point out that this would be a death sentence for those allergic to work, to which I reply “Oh. Darn. WHAT a pity.”

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I Didn’t Know Eyeballs Could Rattle

I thought I was having an allergy/asthma attack with the sudden onset of coughing yesterday at school. Lots of pollenous hell flowers out there in bloom. The jasmine is particularly potent. The temperature at school was in the low to mid 90s yesterday afternoon, so I thought the dragginess I was feeling could be attributed to the heat. I did a deep watering of the classroom flower garden before heading home for the weekend because there is *no* rain in the forecast. By the time SwampMan arrived to pick me up, I could barely keep my eyes open except when paroxysmal coughs tore through me. Crap. Probably NOT allergies.

I went home and took my temperature. Great. 100 degrees. One hundred degrees isn’t that big a deal, except my normal temperature is around 97.6, not 98.6. Always has been. When my temperature is at 98.6, I’m running a temperature (grin).

I staggered through today as best as I could. I finished my morning chores that are normally finished by 7 a.m. by about 2:00 p.m., then rode to Home Depot with SwampMan against my better judgement. Then we rode out to the grocery store so that I could pick up some milk, we got something to eat (SwampMan got lunch and dinner; I had my first meal of the day) and then stopped by SwampSon’s house so that I could do his livestock chores and plant waterings, and then home to my livestock.

I looked at my chickens. The horizon tilted crazily in my yard. Weird. I reminded myself that if I put one foot in front of the other, I would get there, although the front yard looked like an impossibly long way from the gate and rather steep, considering that it was flat ground. I fed two pens of “orphan” chicks that had been hatched out and abandoned by ducks. I fed a pen of 15 ducklings in the large round pen. I fed two pens of layers although I did not move the pens. I didn’t think I could move them. Perhaps in the morning. Then behind the house to three pens of chicks, then to the back of the house for a hen on a nest and a pen of pullets just beginning to lay. Then to the back pasture for two large pens of layers and one small pen that I’m introducing to the pen that I would like them in. By that time, I was moving like a robot or zombie. Step. Step. Step. Put feed in feeders. Check water. Ignore eggs. Step. Step. Step. Wait. Did I feed the chickens in the back of the house and in the front yard? I didn’t remember. Backtrack. Step. Step. Step. Wait! Did I feed the chickens in the side yard or back pasture? Step. Step. Step.

Okay. I can do this. The headache was like a tight band tightening around my head with every step, and the horizon started darkening and narrowing to a little spotlight of light out at the horse stalls, and Breeze neighed impatiently. My vision cleared. I had work to do. Okay. On to the stables. I can count the steps! One. Two. Three. Uh, where was I again? Oh, right, gotta check the chickens in the wooden chickenhouse and close them in for the night. They need water, too. The turkey poults are calling. There are wild turkeys in the woods, and they might hear the adults calling to one another. Back to the gate for the sheep feed. One. Two. Three. 105. 106. 107. 108. Scatter corn for the rams and dry ewes. 109. 110…..115. 130. 135. 140 and climb over the fence. I’m nearly trampled by ewes and lambs rushing up, running around in front of me, through my legs, and jumping up on me like dogs. Put feed in managers, avoiding stampeding sheep. Step step step back to the house, almost done. Take hamburger out of freezer for Puppy, about two pounds’ worth, and put it in his bowl. He can wait for it to thaw; he has a dozen boiled eggs to eat. Feed Momma cat dry food instead of her beloved canned feed, and take a scoop of dry cat feed out to the back of the horse barn for three cats. Two of them are SwampDaughter’s. I dunno who the hell the other one belongs to, but he apparently thinks we belong to HIM.

I went back into the house and downed a couple large glasses of sweet tea. The tightening band around my head eased. Just dehydrated a little. Did I have much to drink today? Probably not, I didn’t feel like eating. I took another look at my temperature. Now it’s 102. The temperature inside the house is in the high 80s or low 90s, but I just want to wrap up in a blanket and shiver for awhile. I think I will. SwampMan wanted to hover for awhile until I told him to get the heck OUT before he got sick, too.

“I’m glad you’re not a pussy when you get sick like I am!” he offered. Is that a compliment or a criticism? I dunno. I don’t care. I wish I hadn’t taken microbiology those many years ago so that I wouldn’t know that the muscle pain is coming from destroyed muscle cells that the virus has reproduced in and then burst open with little viral replicants to infect other cells, and that the temperature is my body’s attempt to make the body unfriendly to the invaders. Bastards. Explode MY cells? I don’t think so. My body is a battleground tonight and I am ground zero.

SwampMan helpfully left the military channel playing “Ike” for me. Why couldn’t he have left something helpful, like a bottle of hard liquor? Oh, right, *we* don’t drink. I turned on “How It’s Made” instead. I bet it would be MUCH more entertaining with a bottle of medicinal liquor except for red wine. Red wine gives me migraines. I already have one, thank you very much. Maybe red wine would help?

Now I’m tired out. Gotta go cover up and shiver again, then shed all my clothes and stand under the fan a few minutes later. Good times, right?

3:45 a.m.

Back to myself for a bit. I’ve been having fever dreams with lots of bright colors in which I keep trying to do things over and over that I cannot remember with no success. Temperature is down to 101 again. I dunno WHAT this thing is, but it seems to be making the rounds of schools. My next door neighbors told me that my friend, who works at a different school system than I do, had a racking cough and hadn’t gotten out of bed all day. If you have children in the school system, beware!

More pacing the floor because muscles hurt too much to stay still. What I had planned to do this weekend was more T-shirt painting/tie dying along with felting. I felted a flower onto my T-shirt for a school function, and it turned out crude, like many first attempts do, but…not bad. Not bad at all, considering that I was doing it about midnight and suddenly realized I had to go to sleep IMMEDIATELY in order to get five hours’ sleep. If I had done something like sketch it out first instead of doing it free form, it would have probably undoubtedly been a lot better.

Anyway, I had wanted to make some brilliant colored little baby shirts for Zoe with things like fishies and bugs and dinosaurs and flowers (not all at the same time) felted on them this weekend. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not feeling up to it!

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If I Wanted America to Fail

You don’t really think that our politicians and media have our best interests at heart, do you?

h/t Sullivan’s Travelers

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New Friend

Looks like the kiddies have a new friend! Zoe’s smile looks a little anxious, while Dylan is being very protective of his new furry friend. I think SwampDaughter said his name was “George”. Seems like a good choice of name.

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Are Cockatoos Edible?

My son is working out of town, so I’m taking care of his chickens, plants, and cockatoo from hell. Harley the cockatoo is always excited to see me because he’s going to get a nice piece of finger for dinner. He stations himself directly between his water and food bowls because my fingers are going to have to reach in to grab both to fill them up, and he wants to be optimally placed for his attack. I think he’s misnamed. He should be named Rommel or Patton or Sun Tsu because he’s obviously thought over this strategy for awhile. He probably sits around all day just planning his attack for when I come in the afternoon.

I was able to distract him enough to keep my fingers intact while changing out the water but, while changing out the food, he bit deeply into my thumb and removed a rather large triagular-shaped piece. Little bastard. I had to go into Winn Dixie and do some grocery shopping with a bloody thumb slowly dripping onto my clothing.

Son says that he’s always afraid when I call that I’ll tell him that I went to his house and found that poor little Harley has gone to bad bird heaven sometime during the day. Grrrrr. I couldn’t be that lucky.

Maybe I should play him some music so that he could dance himself into exhaustion.

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