The weekend was shockingly productive. I don’t know if it was a genuine result of Beerless July, some kind of false ratcheting-up of energy, or what. But this past weekend was a complete success. I don’t feel guilty about anything. Nothing. It’s almost unheard of.
On Friday I went to the library, then Panera, and worked on (completed!) a detailed outline of a project Metten and I have started. I’ll have more details for you at the proper time, but the fact I was able to focus and analyze and complete the project in one sitting, is amazing to me.
And just so you know, I’m completely fired up about this thing… I think it’s gonna be great. I really do. Stay tuned.
I returned home, feeling triumphant, and Toney was trimming bushes in the front yard. We were planning to spend all day Saturday whipping our yard into shape, but she was getting a head-start on it.
And within seconds my wife was stung by a bee on her right hand. It obviously didn’t feel too good, and one of her fingers started plumping up like a Ball Park frank. She went inside and took Benadryl, and we continued.
I started working on the shrub Toney had been tending to, when she was so viciously attacked.
And a whole battalion of bees came zipping out, in single-file, and got in my hair, began buzzing in my face and ears, and one stung me on the bottom of my right arm, way up near the pit.
The sting hurt like a sumbitch, but it was the bees in my hair that freaked me out. I shrieked like a schoolgirl, flung the hedge trimmers halfway across the yard, and ran inside the house.
I’d escaped with only one sting, which was a miracle. Those little bastards were all over me. And I think they were wearing goggles!
But that one sting packed a punch. It just kept burning and burning, and finally, after twenty minutes or so, started to fade. But it didn’t get all swollen like Toney’s did. I thought I’d gotten off easily. Ha!
That night we went to the city fireworks, and here are some pics I snapped. I think they capture the ambiance quite nicely. By this time my arm was almost back to normal, and I wasn’t even thinking about it anymore.
Most of the town turns out for the 4th of July fireworks, and it’s kinda fun, in an 1880s sort of way. Everybody just hangs out in an open field, eats unhealthy food, and eventually watches shit explode overheard.
And the next morning… my right arm was swelled up like a giant sausage. I could barely bend it, and the bottom was as hard as granite. WTF?
Toney told me I should down some Benadryl, but I can’t have that. I don’t do medicines and elixirs, thank you very much. I’d just endure it, like I did when I was kid. Just because the arm was so large it couldn’t hang at my side (it was almost on a 45 degree angle at this point), wasn’t the worst handicap a person could have. Right?
And we worked our asses off that day. Looking back, it blows my mind. We worked in the yard, in the steaming heat, all day long. And it’s still not perfect, but looks roughly one thousand percent better. I’d kept the grass mowed, but we’d been neglecting everything else.
That night you’d think Beerless July would’ve been put to a test, but it wasn’t difficult at all. Next weekend will probably be a different ballgame, but the first one is always easy.
We took Andy (Blacklips Houlihan, Mr. McStench) out for a long walk, then Toney and I watched Friday Night Lights. We went to bed early, and I read several chapters of a book. It was fantastic.
And on Sunday morning my arm was even worse. I looked like some kind of freak, like I’d been pumping iron with my right arm only. Or might possibly be a chronic masturbator. The thing (my arm) was ridiculously large, red, and sensitive. It was also radiating heat. If you poked it, a white spot would appear, and slowly fade back to red.
I was starting to get a little nervous.
I called Steve, whose wife Myra is a medical doctor, and she told me to take Benadryl. Always with the Benadryl! But, she assured me, if I was going to die, I’d already be dead.
So, I went to work, and people were doing double-takes at my one ridiculous arm. By the end of the night, though, it had started to deflate a little. My skin wasn’t so stretched and tight, and my upper arm wasn’t so fraudulently Schwarzenegger-like.
And this morning it’s almost back to normal. Stupid bees… I feel like going out there and dumping a bucket of kerosene on that bush, and flicking a match into the middle of it. That would show ’em.
So, how was your holiday weekend? Is it still ongoing? Tell us all about it in the comments section, won’t you?
And I’ll see you guys again tomorrow.