I woke up Friday morning with a sore arm. It was not unexpected, but it was aggravating, nonetheless. The day before, I had gotten COVID booster shot #2 under my belt. Well, technically, it was above my belt in my left arm. I was not anticipating a significant reaction based on my experience with booster shot #1 last November. After that vaccination, I felt tired and achy for about twelve hours, but luckily most of it was during my normal sleep hours.
Despite my achy arm, I did my weekly volunteer work at an animal sanctuary, which is less about petting and cuddling livestock (although I sneak in some of that) than it is about cleaning up after them. Suffice to say, it was a good workout. I drove home afterwards feeling vaguely chilled and tired.
After a routine doctor’s appointment in the afternoon, I came back home with the idea that I would work on a blog post. But the allure of a nap was irresistible. I woke up feeling okay, but not with my usual energy. I felt a little fuzzy, and outdoor dog walks did not clear my head.
But when it was time to write a blog post, I drew a blank. I have dozens of ideas in my blog post file, but I could not seem to execute on any of them. I toyed with the idea of just waiting until Saturday, but that day was already chock full of normal weekend busyness. I did not want to add one more item on a to-do list that was already full.
Then I had an idea: why not just type out whatever comes to mind for about the next 500 words, the writing equivalent of that weird brain wandering period right before you fall asleep? It might be funny or revealing, and honestly, the idea of just being able to type without thinking about grammar, paragraph structure, or essay organization was compelling.
So, here it goes, I just need a trigger. Then, I look down at my arm as I am reaching for my water bottle, and I see a strand of hair on my sweater.
Oh my god, I’m losing all my hair! I did take the time to wash it before my appointment today for fear that the doctor notes afterward would reflect that, “the patient seems unable to care for herself.” I have to say, it did not look bad. While I was driving to Bellevue, my mouth felt dry, for Pete’s sakes, I have not had any water all day! What is the matter with me? I pull into a mini-mart and buy a big bottle of water, aggravated that I am spending money on a single-use plastic bottle. The clerk says my hair looks beautiful, she is just so sweet, I tell her that I quit dyeing it at the start of the pandemic and decided to embrace my age, she says I don’t look old, I look elegant.
Her remark makes me think about kindness, the type that comes out of nowhere, like the bursts of flower blossoms in April. Our yard is gorgeous right now, full of color and life, and beauty and joyful awakenings. I wonder when I will kill all those flowers. Aren’t perennials really hardy? Should I be doing something to them before they go dormant? I know nothing about plants. I have never had time. But when I retire, I will need to start doing yard work. It will be good exercise, and it will be consistent with frugality.
Frugality. How did I become my mother? She bought clothes at K-mart and then later, thrift stores and garage sales. I go to a few department stores, but Target is up there, too. I mend holes in sweaters if I love them. I eat leftovers with a vengeance; I can’t stand to throw food out. Speaking of food, all we ever have in the refrigerator these days is produce by the bundles. Our weekly dinner rotation that used to include a pasta dish, tacos, and burgers (beef for Don, salmon for me) seems to be falling by the wayside. But we just love salads so much, and they are just so easy to prepare. But I wonder if we are in a rut? Maybe.
It is hard to know where routine overlaps with compulsion. I cannot work or clean or relax or anything without some exercise first. Well, but before I do that, I have to have coffee. Coffee. What if someone told me I could not drink it anymore? I anxiously scan news articles about health studies related to coffee. So far, so good. But I am using single-use pods in my Keurig. Not good. Just like buying a plastic bottle of Dasani. I consider whether I will start recycling pods. It is a tedious process, and I am conscientious, but I do not think I am going there.
Recycling at our house is annoying because the bin is in the garage. We tried to keep in in the laundry room next to the kitchen, but Boomer the dog kept dragging things out to lick or sniff or chew. The number one thing I want in my kitchen remodel is a recycling bin in a pull-out drawer. I will put it right near the sink. I do not care about a fancy stove; I want convenient recycling.
Speaking of remodeling, oh my god, I promised myself that I would do it 2023, but with contractor back-up, most of the planning will need to be done this year. Ugh, it is tedious to think about, the endless planning, interminable meetings, and on-line searches for inspiration. Maybe I just won’t do it? No, I know I will, I just will not like it.
I am at my word limit. Boy, was that easy! Not pithy or insightful, or well-crafted or interesting. But painless, uncomplicated, and simple. And for me, today, that is good enough.