The near impossible...

I have been a bit remiss in tending to the removal of Amos' deposits in the back yard because Firewood Man does not care at all if I do so.  He just mows over them.  In fact, he called them country fertilizer.  However, I really should clear the yard regularly.

Late this afternoon, Amos was dawdling a bit when I knew he had business to tend.  So, I thought I would get my tools (a Taco Bell bag for my hand and a grocery bag for the deposits) and set to work.  Just a few minutes into the task—intermittently reminding Amos what his task was—I came across a dead bird.  And screamed.  And vomited.  And began weeping.

There is no one to call.  No one to help.  Being single (without local friends) is just so hard.  The epitome of such is that there is no one else but you to take out the trash.  Ever.  I would just about die of gratefulness if someone randomly asked to empty all the trash cans, take the trash to the bin, and to empty the recycling bin that sits on the back porch.  No matter how ill you are or how tired you are or  how much you are struggling, you still have to take out the trash.

I did actually try contacting Firewood Man to see if I could pay him to come out and remove the bird.    I know he would have done so.  But he is still on his vacation.  For just over 90 minutes, I worked to unstick the dead bird from the grass so that I could get it into a plastic bag.  I tried the flat shovel, the regular shovel, the trowel, the bulb shovel, the fertilizer shovel, and the weed digger.  I tried and vomited. I tried and fainted. I tried and screamed. I tried and wept.  I trembled the whole time.  Finally ... finally ... the bird separated from the grass.  It separated and flew a bit of a distance.  I screamed and fainted, again.  After Amos kissed me awake again, I got the bird into a plastic bag, vomited, and carried the bag out to the trash bin.  I was shaking so hard that I barely hosed down the messy area.  I am hoping for lots and lots and lots of rain in the very near future.

Struggling with neurological and cognitive deficits, fatigue, weakness, anxiety, squeamishness, and missing your beloved cockatiels that you had to give up makes the removal of dead birds from your yard near impossible.  Makes for great frustration and sadness.  Makes for a need for tasty food.

I made another plate of the asparagus, since I still had two portions of the mustard vinaigrette and the crumbled bacon.

To make a miserable day even more difficult to face, I finally opened the mail.  The imaging center I use was hit by a cyberattack. I received a letter stating that my medical records, personal contact information, and credit card information was stolen by thieves.  SIGH.

I've already had to be hyper-vigilant financially because I shopped at Target during that cyber heist.  I am not really up for round two.