Stress Aches

No Holy Shit for me this morning. I woke to the painful incontinence of my spastic colon, whatever the current name for that is. Ouch! ! ! Again I am amazed at how I came of age and moved through my early adulthood calling this level of pain, "Normal and okay." I am fine. How are you?

Whatever the currently popular name for this family curse, the attack isnae much of a surprise. In my strictly personals, I salute ^it^ as a stress symptom and there isnae a doubt I have been juggling some serious stress factors. The greater surprise is that I have been able to keep my literal shit together as far as I have. Plying stress therapy tools.

Still no word from our son's in-laws on the final pick up arrangements. I remain skittish about trusting the lawyer yaddahs far enough to ask directly. Would it be hideously manipulative to prod Big Bro's 6 year old enthusiasm toward the task of nailing down the specifics? I'm a bit surprised he hasn't already come up with the idea on his own. However all that works out, it will be nice to have that bit of guesswork behind us. I could easily feel relief at the prospect of two weeks off from childcare duties, but their promise breaking track record keeps me from counting on that relief. The flashbacks to the too many broken promises of my childhood have been responding well to therapy tools, but remain ouchy. Those broken promises were typically accompanied by increasingly desperate and traumatic attempts to put things right. My skill with radical acceptance has grown considerable, but guessing remains far from my favorite passtime. Gee, why is my literal shit fracturing?

Breathing. . .

I moved the feather babies to the new house last night. The central heat is now up and running and girl howdy, it rocks. Space heaters and human babies learning to walk arenae a match made in heavan. As has become usual, Big Bro and Big Sis were adamant about parking the end of day school train in front of the new house yesterday afternoon. Letting the punch out crew work uninterrupted did not compute. Fortunately, the workers were greatly entertained by their enthusiasm. One of the crew members is a fellow flock keeper. She wasnae too impressed with the childish enthusiasm, but her attention focused immediately when I asked if it would be a problem for me to move the feather babies into the spare bedroom. I encouraged her to feel free to go in and say, "Howdy." Close the door when you leave. I'm crazy enough to brood feather babies in the house, but I'm not crazy enough to give them free reign of the entire house.

The rapid cycling seems to be stabilizing and the balance still feels functional on our little ship of fools, but. . . Girl howdy my belly hurts. Think I'll put the mood icon for this entry on "Bad." I believe I am holding steady, but. . . Ouch. Stress aches suck. I may need some anger channeling exercises today. We see what grows as the day develops.