Unless I'm actively subscribed to an e-mail discussion group I get about as much e-mail as I did snail mail before the internet came along. Except for spam and bills, not much at all. I think it's because nobody has much to say anymore. They've heard it all.
I write about what goes on in my life here. Not much physically, I just went out into my yard and walked around in the Sun for a while. I read that it takes at least fifteen minutes for the skin to start making Vitamin D, so the last couple of days I've spent at least that much time outside. Yesterday I wore a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and got some sun on my haid, my lower arms, and my lower legs. Today I wore the pajama bottom lounging pants with long legs and no shirt, and took the sunlight on my upper torso and haid.
I realize my garden hose faucet don't cut off completely. It leaks about two drop per minute, so yesterday I pulled it over to drip on my fig tree cutting that's coming along nicely now. Then, just before dark I pulled it over to my commercial cutting to let it drip there all night, and so this morning when I went outside for a while I put the drip back on the cutting I did myself. My old fig tree is really looking good. It has lots of fruit on it. I'm never able to predict when the fruit will get ripe. It won't be all that soon. Maybe within the next month. One thing I realized during the last growing season or two. Just like on my blueberries and grapes, the fruit grows on new wood. I gotta learn more about pruning fruit trees and bushes.
The brush pile I burned a few weeks back that has been sitting in my yard for a few months drying, had a wine bottle in it, and when I burned the pile recently, the bottle broke up into a bunch of glass shards that were plain to see in the ashes of the pile after a brief rain shower. This morning I took my cheap plastic bucket I bought at Wal-Mart for .78 cents and carefully picked all the glass up. I'm pleased to be able to walk around my house barefooted.
Presently, walking around in my yard is not as soft and cushiony as it usually is. The drought is back. All the rain that's come through this area for the last month or so has been spotty and missed us for the most part. The grass is dry, brown, and kind of prickly to walk on, but still not bad. I don't have to pick my way through it to keep from stepping on something sharp.
I'm still in constant physical pain from whatever is wrong with me. I may have waited too late to begin the Vitamin D regimen. It hasn't changed anything, and the pain in my wrists, elbows, and shoulders hurt 24/7. I go to bed in pain, and wake up all during the night in pain, and I start the day in pain. I can hardly wipe my ass anymore. When I can't stand the pain I have to take a shower, and turn the water on and off with my elbow. Fortunately, I installed faucets that use levers to turn the water on and off and adjust the temperature.
I may get my wish. It's the only solution I can think of. I have to teach myself somehow to get off sexually from pain. That way, I can write this journal with some anticipation of pleasure. Currently, it's taking me several hours to get it done, and then I have to edit. It's gotten to the point that it doesn't matter whether it hurts to do it, because it hurts anyway, whether I do it or not. I'm not playing my new digital piano at all except for the drum machine to listen to.
The pain I describe has begun showing up in my neck muscles. I used to be able to pop the bones in my neck when I got a crick in it, but I can hardly reach to do that now without extreme discomfort, and if I do arrange to get my hands in place so I can pop it, it hurts so bad it can bring to my knees and tears to my eyes. I've written about the possibility of this predicament before. What if I live thirty more years suffering daily from this sort of discomfort. I'll start praying for senility so that I'll forget the pain as soon as I remember it.
The last chorus of the song Desperado by the Eagles warns the listener who fits the description of the lyrics of the song (me) to let someone love them before it's too late. I think I've already waited too long, and I'm paying the price. I love certain people, even some I haven't seen in person for a long time, but I won't let them love me back. C'est la vie...
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
