One of my new years resolutions this year is to lower my caffeine intake. There have been times in my life when I had none at all, and it makes napping easier. Other times I have entirely too much. Either way, I like naps and my blood pressure could use far fewer stimulants.
But New Years day is not the time for it. So I decided to push it back a few days. Having the new year start on a Wednesday, it feels fair to push it back to the next Monday. So here we go.
I can't sleep in anymore. I wake up naturally sometime between 3:30 - 4, regardless of when I actually need to be up. I didn't think that would be a problem until I stayed up for new years, dropping off to bed at 12:30 (what, you think I went out?) and waking up at 3:30.
At least I didn't have work. I still went to the gym, grateful that it opened late. My compulsion to be there when it opens would have ruined me.
Our yearly tradition of doing fireworks on NYE was made pleasant with the warmer weather, and more fun because we had so much extra. We get them for July 4, but my two older boys were at camp that week, and half of my remaining kids had fallen asleep by the time it got dark. My daughter isn't as excited by them, so we cut it short and told ourselves that new years was going to be big.
It was. Took us a good long while to get through them all, and we weren't even cold. In fact, when I was on my way to the shed to get some setup supplies, I spotted this in the yard:
He wasn't alone, but it's certainly unseasonable.
Year after year at the end of December, I see people always complaining about how bad their year has been. I also notice it generally tends to be the same people.
I had a fairly decent year, and I'm saying that as I'm still doing stretches to regain range of motion in my wrist. A wedding, graduation, surprise party, and being outdoors endlessly.. right up until the end of summer anyway. Even when I was stuck in a cast and couldn't move much, it just showed me how much my kids are willing to help out. In fact, my youngest son helped me button my shirt one Sunday morning because I couldn't even pull my arm in that far. He didn't even fuss, he just stepped right up.
If I weren't so tired I could go into a lot more detail. Tomorrow I suppose.
The dead skin built up inside the cast is starting to seep out. The palm of my hand is constantly clammy because the cloth in the cast is, and there's no drying it. The back of my hand is flaking off like a pastry. One week until the cast removal, and I can only guess as to the mixture of joy and horror that awaits me.
Meanwhile, I'm starting to get used to the thing. My hand and wrist are no longer is constant pain, and I can use as much of it as I can reach. I can kind of work my right arm at the gym, but not being able to grip anything properly is a hinderance. That and the muscle in my forearm hasn't been used much in the last couple months, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised if it doesn't bounce back in a day. Otherwise I feel like I can just pop the cast off right now and be alright.
With my luck I'd hurt myself if I did. One more week it is.
With the weather turning and my wrist being bound up in a bulky cast, I discovered that I can't wear my coats or sweaters on my right arm. As it is I'm wearing my long sleeve shirts with the cuffs unbuttoned, but by itself that's uncomfortable outdoors with the wind blowing the snow around. I would just tough it out, but since the surgery I've had a difficult time staying warm, an issue that is slowly resolving itself. (It's also weird because I've always run hot - I'm the guy wearing short sleeves to work all winter for years, so going the other way is disorienting)
Meanwhile, I discovered an old military surplus winter coat that my brother handed me has unusually wide sleeves. I suppose it's meant to go on over an already bulky set of military gear, but I found it fits very nicely over the cast while being ruthlessly warm.
It's not often you get handed something very out of the ordinary that solves a very specific problem years later.
Last year I brought home a cat. A friend of mine, a girl I used to work with back at one of my crappier jobs (bad job, great coworkers) fostered cats, and had one remaining from a litter. The wife and I drove out to Buffalo where we met the perpetually terrified kitten named Scarlet.
No really. She had to be caught before we could bring her home. Once home, I had to almost dump her out of the carrier just so she'd know where the litter box was. For the first few weeks she taught us where all the best hiding places in the house were. If you were the size of a cat, anyway. Eventually we learned them and figured out what doors needed to stay shut to keep her out of the ceiling and walls. The food was being eaten, and the litter was being used. That was the only clue I had that she was still in the house.
From there, she would hide if you were in the room with her. If someone found her, she would make a break for it. For awhile my wife joked about renaming her 'ghost' because she would haunt the place.
My kids all wanted a cuddly cat, but I was not going to give up on this little one. Eventually she stopped hiding all the time. She started poking her head out more and more. Then she stopped running so fast. When I was stuck home after my surgery, she actually walked right up to me on the couch.
She probably thought I was dead, but I counted it as a win.
Now, a year later, she just walks around the house like a normal cat. She'll poke her paws into the basket full of her toys, sometimes she'll find the bag of treats and carry it out, meowing at my son to open it for her.
My wife, meanwhile, is the clear winner.
