I cannot believe how painful my wrists have been for the last several days. All the crowbar action has resulted in my wrists hurting, throbbing, so much that I am practically living in wrist splints. We did a bit more on the deck this weekend, and my poor spouse is paying the piper with strained back muscles. Having suffered with my back many times before, I feel his pain, but I'm also feeling my own! It's been hard to even lift my coffee cup! When I pushed against the crowbar to prise up the boards, I certainly put strain on my hands, wrists, and arms. (Why isn't "prise" a word? The correct spelling isn't "prize," I'm sure.)
I'm also still itching from the bites of whatever bit me. No-see-ums? Midges? Sweat bees? I have bites all over my arms and neck, up into my hairline, and I keep scratching the blasted things!
I am in Big Rapids this evening, and it is cold! My nose is running, and I'm sneezing, sure signs that the temperature is lower than I'd like. My office today was, as usual, so bitterly cold that I could hardly wait to exit it. I spent a little time (and money) at the drugstore, getting more vitamins and some fun gadgets (I do love gadgets) such as a five-dollar set of screwdrivers, a sewing kit, a container of plastic zip ties, and some snacks. I tend to eat more junk food than I should when it's just me alone. How do people who live alone ever manage a nutritious meal? It seems such a waste of time to cook for one person, and since I don't trust the apartment's weird gas stove, I get microwaveable stuff or foods that can be prepared in a sauce pan or skillet. But I did take a spectacular photo as I was leaving the building today. I'll try to get it on this blog.
A chance conversation with a colleague has opened a door for teaching a creative nonfiction class. It would have to be an overload, but then, it's only a one-credit class.
The visitation for Ellen Haneline that I attended last Friday seemed strange to me because it was scheduled post-cremation. That seemed so odd to me. A hundred or more people greeted Doug Haneline and his daughters and then circled around looking at pretty floral arrangements. I guess I expected to see a casket. It's what I'm accustomed to seeing at a visitation. I know I was there for Doug and not for myself (but why not? I knew Ellen and needed to say goodbye to her, too), and since I myself have planned to be cremated, maybe I should wrap my brain around a different paradigm.
The woman who is supposed to observe my teaching this week decided (after I'd spent hours prepping for the 8 a.m. class) to attend my 9:30 class instead. She mistakenly believed that I had two sections back-to-back of the same class, but the 8 a.m. class is tech writing, and the 9:30 class is Advanced Composition. I suppose I should be happy because the Advanced Comp class is chock full of brilliant writers, whereas the tech writing class has the usual crop of people who aren't especially oriented to the writing mind, but it meant I had to spend a few more hours prepping to be brilliant and energizing in a different class than the one I'd expected.
The police finally caught the garage arsonist who had been plaguing our area since July. It turns out to be a troubled young (white) man, age 23, who had been setting fires since he was a teenager. He had set fire to his grandparents' home when he was 15, and who knows how many other fires that no one ever blamed him for. There are crimes (and criminals) I can halfway understand. Arson isn't one of them.
Our Trex composite decking is supposed to arrive this week. I hope it does, even if my wrists are still aching. I'm eager to get this job finished! This weekend is our 39th wedding anniversary, and getting the deck finished will be all the anniversary gift I want.
I'll put together a grouping of before-and-after photos once the job is done. Meanwhile, I ought to get ready for bed. Teaching 8 a.m. classes isn't unusual for me, but lately I've had such problems sleeping that I try to get all the zzzz's I can get.
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