Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Panic Attacks

I don't know... maybe panic attack is too strong of a statement. Maybe anxiety attacks would be better. But whatever it is, the waking up at night, the acid reflux, the cramp in my chest, has been a bit much. It only happens when I worry about money. So, yesterday, I vented to a couple of people. Had my burst of rage, so now it is time to figure it out. I keep coming up with ideas to make money that require some degree of creativity. But it is almost impossible for me to be creative when I have this much stress. I need widgets! Some thoughtless process where I can count out five, put them in a bag and toss them in the mail. I have no idea what could possibly be my widget. I know that I keep visiting the idea of making money and then walking away a failure. Failure can be very tiring..... and make your chest hurt. Sometime later, I can get creative again, but for now..... I've decided that perhaps I should work myself up to a frenzy today. I have good weather. God knows, I have enough work. I need to start with the mower. I got some wire tangled around the blades and it is going no where until it is cleaned out and hopefully, the blades sharpened up a bit. The garden needs some finishing touches. I also need to consider some fencing. I saw some raccoon poop out there the other day and I don't need a marauder so early in the season. I will need some sort of garden fence. That reminds me... the post hole digger needs sharpened. There are some plants that need to be set out and I think they can handle the weather now. The yard needs cleaned up so badly. I cringe at the thought. Then, when all of this is done, I will hopefully have an idea for a widget. I will be lying prostate in the grass..... probably covered in ticks, exhausted, the clouds will part. There will be a stream of heavenly light and the angelic chorus will strike up a beat..... Ahhhh-men. And through the process of divine intervention, I will have an idea for a widget. Well, you just can't beat heavenly inspiration for getting you a real cracker jack idea for making some filthy lucre. Maybe, I 'll just buy a lottery ticket again. That's especially filthy lucre. I need to go spend some time with the horses today. They will cheer me up, but more importantly, they will relax me. The grandsons were here this last weekend. They cheer me up also. They don't always relax me. They do crack me up. Edgar, of course, is proficient at the potty training phase of his life. His timing is not always perfect though. The last time he was here, we had made it down the hill and we were into the woods when he announced that he had to pee. I wasn't keen on walking back up the hill to have him use the toilet just to turn around and walk back down the hill. I tried to convince him that peeing on a tree was the thing to do. He had a rather dubious expression when I told him all the guys do it. When I unzipped his pants he had a look on his face that made me feel like a pedophile. I gave up. I asked him, "Do you REALLY want to go back to the house and use the toilet?" He nodded sadly , so up the hill we went. But this last weekend, we were again out in the trees and doing some brush burning and he yelled at me, "Hey, Grandma!" I answered, "Hey, What?" Back at me, "I have to go pee on that tree!" "Which tree?" "That one!" "The one by the white rock?" "Yes!" "Okey dokey" So Edgar went and peed on the tree. I continued to watch the fire. When I turned around to check on him he was standing facing the small crabapple tree with his jeans around his ankles and a brisk wind to his back. His little butt cheeks ruddy in the wind. His dad will have to teach him to have a little discretion. I have already learned that grandmas cannot teach the fine art of peeing on trees. But that is the thought I will hold in my mind, the next time I have a panic attack. Edgar standing in front of the tree, enjoying nature. Perhaps it will inspire some idea for a widget, considering the angelic chorus hasn't shown up yet. So, I will soon be out and working, armed with my sick sense of humor and possibly a small bag to breath into. Louie

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