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I'm doing this instead of writing.
Jul. 31st, 2013 11:02 am~*~If there's one good thing about being sick, it's that it resets a baseline appreciation for digestion and thermal homeostasis. *sings* "Lowered Expectations..."
~*~Before parenthood, I couldn't bear the sound of vomiting without joining in. Now my ability to handle everything right through the cleaning process is disturbing in comparison. Here, let me hold back your hair; now you go rinse out your mouth and nose while I clean up this public bathroom stall using only toilet paper and my newly-forged iron constitution.
~*~My family is large and festooned with aunts and cousins on my dad's side, so going to family gatherings is sometimes like looking into an AU house of mirrors set ten to twenty years into the future (my grandma's adorableness was clearly dominant down a couple generations). Body composition-wise, we also tend to be built fucking solid at any weight (my grandfather did decathlon in high school--that's ten events he rocked at all of five foot two).
~*~In getting the store ready there has been a ton of ladder work, painting, cleaning and wrestling large chunks of wood. First my hips and ass were wrecked; then I had a spate of sore shoulders and knees; then my hands hurt for almost a week. Over the last month hefting fifty pounds is no longer the limit of my strength but more like "hey, this is no longer light."
~*~I'm slowly letting go of my death grip on hyper-realism in my writing. I grew up swimming in the Great Lakes, and once you wade out to a point about armpit height, an errant wave can lift your feet up and deposit you just further enough out that the bottom is gone when you hit the valley of the wave. The bottom is GONE, people, and I'm trying to breathe through the chest panic as lakeweed tangles my calves and I'm desperate for the reassurance of silty sand squidging between my toes.
~*~Before parenthood, I couldn't bear the sound of vomiting without joining in. Now my ability to handle everything right through the cleaning process is disturbing in comparison. Here, let me hold back your hair; now you go rinse out your mouth and nose while I clean up this public bathroom stall using only toilet paper and my newly-forged iron constitution.
~*~My family is large and festooned with aunts and cousins on my dad's side, so going to family gatherings is sometimes like looking into an AU house of mirrors set ten to twenty years into the future (my grandma's adorableness was clearly dominant down a couple generations). Body composition-wise, we also tend to be built fucking solid at any weight (my grandfather did decathlon in high school--that's ten events he rocked at all of five foot two).
~*~In getting the store ready there has been a ton of ladder work, painting, cleaning and wrestling large chunks of wood. First my hips and ass were wrecked; then I had a spate of sore shoulders and knees; then my hands hurt for almost a week. Over the last month hefting fifty pounds is no longer the limit of my strength but more like "hey, this is no longer light."
~*~I'm slowly letting go of my death grip on hyper-realism in my writing. I grew up swimming in the Great Lakes, and once you wade out to a point about armpit height, an errant wave can lift your feet up and deposit you just further enough out that the bottom is gone when you hit the valley of the wave. The bottom is GONE, people, and I'm trying to breathe through the chest panic as lakeweed tangles my calves and I'm desperate for the reassurance of silty sand squidging between my toes.
