Walking on eggshells is exhausting. Living in dread is draining. Will I ever have that synchronicity of all things working together instead of the chaos of everything not?

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Today, I ran into a woman for whom I used to work. She is brilliant. She is classy. She is grace personified. I couldn't help but wonder who I might have become had I been able to remain beneath her tutelage. I think, perhaps, of all the women I have known professionally, she is the most like whom I would wish to become. She is forceful, yet patience. She is well-spoken, yet silent. She is strong, yet gentle. I know that others have seen her a bit differently, but I believe their perspective was sullied by some who worked beneath her, yet against her. I do know that she has a long history of being well-regarded by many for her passion, her ethic, and her accomplishments. Would any of you desire less?

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My Cousin D is walking such a difficult path, watching his father in what seems to be his final days. In such a short time, Cousin D had grown and changed, even if he cannot quite articulate how or why. He is filled with far more questions than answers, but he has chosen the noble path. I admire his intelligence, his talent, and his passion. But right now, in this moment, I admire him most for being willing to set aside self in the interest of another. Like father, like son.

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How would you judge me as a birdy momma? Sunday morning, I plucked Fancy off of her eggs. At first, when I thought it was just one egg and she only had a week left of setting, I ascribed to my vet's plan of sabotaging her egg to shorten the strain on her body. But then I discovered a second egg and a third. From Friday to Saturday, Fancy moved nary an inch...not to eat, nor drink, nor relieve herself. Fearing just how much weight she was losing being a good mother to her eggs, I decided to take the risk of sending her into a depression at losing her eggs. She did manage to break the skin on two of my fingers, but I go ahold of her eggs after a mere four attempts. Fancy shreeched and hollered something fierce and let loose of all that she had been holding for two days. So, for several hours, I soothed her and cleaned up after her, all the while stuffing as much food as possible into her gullet. When I first placed her on the scale, she was a horrifying 82 grams. I am avoiding the scale for at least a few more days of encouraged gluttony. I am hopeful, however, at the signs of her recovery: she is perched on my shoulder once more (I just love it when she falls asleep tucked beneath my chin); she bends her head toward me from time to time for a good nuzzle; the consistency of her bodily functions is returning to normal; and her screeching is on the decline (I'll be grateful once it is back to her morning and evening greeting cries of reminder that she is in her cage and should not be forgotten).

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I learned today that my "stimulus" check that was supposed to go out "no later than" June 13th is now slated for July 4th. I am not feeling the love from my government.

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Arthritis is a crappy, horrible, wretched, miserable, frustrating, despicable disease...