The grass called. Actually, its cry has been growing louder all week. I should have taken care of the matter after work yesterday, but I was tired.

This morning it rained. The front that moved in caused much pain, beginning last night and lasting through this afternoon. So then and for the better part of this day, I huddled in the green chair curled in a ball. The pain in my legs was particularly bad.

Late this afternoon, we had sunshine long enough to dry out the yard sufficiently so that the grass started calling again. It was actually higher than when I mowed on the 30th, so I just had to face the fact that I needed to get myself outdoors despite how I felt.

The height of the grass was such that I had to double mow. Twice the work. Whilst mowing, I struggled a bit to ignore all the weeds. The only good thing is that once they were all mowed, the yard looked rather nice. Boy, do I enjoy the first two days after I mow and edge and weed.

Since I skipped the edging last time, I went ahead and took care of it...and that is where my concern arose. Now, I have fainted umpteen times mowing the yard because of the heat. It is frustrating, but while I have asked for help, I haven't gotten any and I have not found someone whom I could afford to pay to mow it. I did work at the end of last summer to be better about being careful as I mowed, and I resolved this mowing season to do just half the yard (either front or back) if need be to be safer. While I was hot and bothered today, I did manage to mow without overheating. The problem? Half-way through the edging I was in tears.

I wash my hair at night so that it can dry while I sleep. I do this because I cannot hold a hair dryer any more. The muscles in my arm and shoulders are too weak for sustained use over my head and my hands cramp with just about any sustained use. It simply hurts too much.

However, last summer I had absolutely no problem holding the weed-whacker I use to edge my yard. I always edged after I mow and yet still had no problem. Today, that was just not the case.

My hands began cramping and my grip would slip from the power trigger. The muscles in my arms and shoulders began screaming in protest. I would stop and rest and then start again. I shifted my grip and adjusted the way I held the weed-whacker again and again and again. Before long, tears were streaming down my face in both pain and frustration.

Hours later, I can barely hold a glass of milk...with both hands. The muscles in my arms are trembling and weak. As I type this now, the laptop is resting on my legs so that my fingers are taking the brunt of the labor to post. I tried typing with it on the TV tray I keep in the living area, but raising my arms high enough to do so was too much work and the trembling worsened.

After the children were asleep, B played a game of Scrabble with me, which was a great distraction. I told her about how I was feeling and then typed (in the chat window) that the whole situation frightened me a bit. I feel as if I am getting weaker and am fearful of what that means. She didn't respond, but I wonder if she missed the text due to the fact that I sort of got practically all the high point letters and was winning the game.

When we went to the cabin, I had way too much stuff in my car. I had my baggage and baggage for Kashi and Fancy. I had all my extra pillows that I need to sleep and Kashi's bed. I had Fancy's cage. I had games and DVDs and cameras and groceries and cooking utensils. I think I am getting better at reducing what I bring when I visit, but I am probably in denial.

I just hate the thought of B or her husband G emptying the car, so I try to do it myself. They are quick to pitch in when I come. I do usually end up packing it all back up myself. I pack up and then spend at least half the time driving home with trembling muscles, wondering if I should even be driving.

Now, loading and unloading pounds and pounds of stuff is one thing. But spending 20 minutes with a weed-whacker? How could that be so difficult? Granted, I did have to push harder with the mower since the grass was still a bit damp. But was it really that much harder?

I washed the dishes a lot at the cabin because there was no dishwasher and I wanted to be helpful. Doing so made my hands cramp and the muscles in my arms ache before I finished. Standing in front of the sink also made the arthritis in my lower back protest the labor. While washing the dishes, I wondered why it hurt so much. I know that scrubbing or gripping something for a while makes my hands cramp. I know that. I just feel like a year ago...or perhaps two...I could have done the dishes without gritting my teeth and hoping I could minimize the complaints that seem to slip out from between my lips far too easily.

While B was taking care of the children, I tried to chop up some wood because we were running out and both of us were reveling in having her cozy cabin heated by the fireplace. We had looked for some fallen wood that might be ready to burn. I found a few pieces that were only a few inches thick. I thought that we could at least use that to supplement the dwindling pile. B was in the house when I swung the ax. All too quickly I felt my muscles begin to tremble. I admit I persisted too long at my futile endeavor because I wanted to prove myself useful at the cabin. I wanted to add to our household, not just be a drain on it. However, I suddenly realized that I was not sure I could make it back to the cabin. I actually crawled up the half flight of steps and stumbled across the porch. I struggled to open the door and collapsed on the couch.

I wanted to call B. I wanted her to tell me that I wasn't going to die from my stupidity. I wanted to not be alone in my fear and confusion. I wanted her company. But she was doing something with the children, putting them down for their naps or something equally important. I couldn't bring myself to call her to my side. When she was finished, I tried to tell her what was happening, how bad I felt. I think she understood, at least in part. To her credit, she just let me lie there like a lump on a log and recover without chastising me or declaring me useless. I love that about her. She sees me at my worst and never punishes me for it.

I know. I know that I could weed-whack just fine last summer. I never gave a single thought about my grip or how long I would need to hold the weed-whacker. When taking care of the lawn, my only concern was for the heat.

Now, I am worried about more...and what that means...