don't let perfect be the enemy of good

My dad had been hounding me to allow him to paint one of my interior house walls that, to be frank, looked like shit.  But it sounded stressful and so much work and blah blah blah.  After years, I didn't have any more excuses.  I'm not working.  Modern paint doesn't smell anymore.  He has plenty of time and was back in town permanently, after 18 months of nomading around the country visiting various siblings.

I had picked out a few possible paint chips months ago, based on a suggestion from a friend, of pulling the blue from a nearby oil painting, coincidentally that my dad loaned to me twenty years ago.  When my dad asked me which paint chip, I let him make the final call.  I liked all of them.  We went to Home Depot together, handed the paint specialist the winning chip, and let him do his magic.  Meanwhile, my dad regaled him with his adventure stories.

Off we went to lunch, and then we called it a day.  Painting could wait. 

This morning, he told me his appointment was canceled, and he could come by to paint.

I decided today was as good as any other day, as my head was relatively clear, so I agreed.

I was already getting tense watching him prep and drag the ladder around.  I decided for both of our sanity, to go upstairs and not watch.  There I found Kitten, hiding under the bed.  I didn't quite join her, but I grabbed the bottle of rum and had a medicinal sip or two. 

I lied in bed and checked on him every 30 minutes or so.  He scrubbed off all the leftover wallpaper detritus (I told you it looked shitty before), and then he took a lunch break, where he enthralled me with stories of my mother, his youth, swimming nuns, and inner city school shenanigans.

After lunch, he taped up most of the edges, and got to work.  I disappeared upstairs again.  Kitten came out from under the bed to snuggle with me and cried.  I'm not really sure why she was crying, but maybe because the downstairs was in disarray.  We're both very sensitive creatures to our environments.  She normally doesn't like people, but she tolerates my dad.

The next time I came downstairs, I was the proud owner of an Atlantis Blue accent wall.

It's not perfect, but it's a helluva lot better than it was, and he was so motherfucking happy to be useful.  Plus he said it will make him smile every time he comes over and sees it.  Awwww.

warrior becomes wise woman

Growing older is tricksy for me.  It feels like only last week that I was a vibrant, ass-kicking, young woman.  And somewhere along the way, I stopped being young and not as willing to kick ass.  Now, I feel middle-aged, but who am I kidding, I probably won't live until my nineties.  Although, to be fair, I didn't think I'd live past 20, or 30, or 40.  And 50 is rapidly creeping up on me.

Does everyone go through this?  Is this why philosophy exists?

I'm sure that my disability (UGH I HATE SAYING THAT) helped age me prematurely.  It's hard to feel young and vibrant from a sickbed.

I've been having a better couple of months than the ones preceding these.  Having 45 out of 90 days as migraine days was just not conducive to living.  (I'm looking at you April, May, and June!)  Fortunately, I'm way better and back down to 4 or 5 migraine days a month.  YIPPEE!

This allows me to exercise, socialize, and be productive (all done judiciously, of course, so as not to trigger additional attacks).

I've been going for walks most days in this godawful Florida heat and humidity, and it seems to be agreeing with me.  Most days are so miserable that I'm sure I look like a crazy lady, being outside on purpose in the middle of the day.  I view it as a free and entertaining (because the scenery changes) sauna.   (Apparently saunas are extremely healthy activities.) 

Obviously, I don't push myself past what feels right, but yesterday I was dumb.  I was in migraine postdrome (AKA hangover mode), and I went farther than I should have, didn't bring water, and didn't eat properly first.  I sat down several times in the shade to catch my breath and let my heart return to normal beats.  The postdrome eventually dissipated, and I felt better after a shower and a quick nap.

I also get to meet lots of dogs out getting their exercise.  And other wildlife.

Raccoon foraging for food

battery not included

A little over two years ago my car battery died, and I was an emotional mess having to replace it.  I was still coping with being single and making automotive decisions.  Fortunately for me, my dad was nearby and helped me through the process.  Unfortunately for me, I didn't listen to my brother's advice to buy a battery tender then.  (FORESHADOWING)

Fast forward a couple years and me not driving much (which would have subsequently charged my new battery as often as it needed), and that one died, too.  I thought, no big deal, it's under warranty for three years.

Except if you don't drive enough.  Fucking cheatsy fuckers.

The man who came out to check it offered me an on-the-spot discount if I buy a new one now.  Generally, I don't fall for those, but it was worth it to have a working car, especially when I didn't have anyone nearby who could help me with this.  I was texting my brother who very graciously only I-told-you-so'd me once.

Cars intimidate me.  So does electricity.  But, I was expecting a friend who happens to be a genius at electricity to visit me, so I ordered the battery tender that my brother HIGHLY recommended.

My friend hooked it all up and explained to me exactly what to do to charge it and how to unplug it each time.  It felt very simple and not as intimidating. My brother recommended a special battery extension cord for it (who knew?), so I didn't have to open the hood each time.  Guess who hooked that up all by herself???  Whatever, I was proud of myself.  :)

It feels so fucking calming to know my battery will work, even if I haven't driven my car for 5 days. 

It's still a learning process.  My friend recommended plugging it into a power strip so I can turn it off when my car is gone (to allow the tender to rest).  Apparently, it's important to plug the charger into the battery AND turn the power strip on every time.  Sigh.  I'll get the hang of it eventually. 

Not only do I have peace of mind, I also think of my brother and my friend every time I hook it up.  And I feel loved.  :))

battery tender