To the Pain

Prince Humperdinck and I have something in common. I too would choose surrender and humiliation over being maimed. Forget maiming, I would choose to grovel pathetically to avoid even moderate pain. Yes, Wesley, I am a coward when it comes to pain, and I'm not ashamed of it!

My inability to patiently endure discomfort and my tendency to take on too much can be a disastrous combination. Yesterday I decided to tackle our weed crop in the front yard. After our flood of rain and the subsequent warm spring weather, our bland rock landscaping has become a carpet of green. Normally, I'm a fan of green, which is all too rare out here, but I don't really enjoy it in the form of weeds. Terence had wanted to just buy some Round Up, but I thought that we would need so much of it that we would get fined by the EPA for not having an herbicide permit or something. (Not too mention that it would cost us an arm and a leg. Oh, and I'm not a huge fan of drenching our living space in chemicals either.) So I tackled our front yard with a hula hoe. An hour later, with sore arms and raw hands, I finally scraped the last section of weeds from the corner. But did I show some common sense and stop there? No, since I have no ability to recognize my own limits, I went on to "murder" our bushes. (That's Terence's word, not mine. I thought I was just trimming them.) Then the yard needed to be raked and the sidewalks swept.

Two and a half hours of straight work on the yard kind of did a number on my wrist. By last night it was swollen and throbbing. And I am such a baby! Just trying to change a diaper nearly brought tears to my eyes. This morning it is slightly better, but still painful enough to make me miserable. I skipped my swim for fear that it would be more pain than it was worth. Possibly not (typing doesn't seem to bug me much), but then, loading the washing machine had me chanting "Ow, ow, ow, ow" like that would help me ward off the pain. I have two brand new piano students today, and I don't know if I could even attempt to play a simple song right now. Luckily, as a teacher, I can just make them do all the work, right? But come Sunday, when I have to play for Primary-- I'm afraid that if my wrist isn't feeling better by then I might whimper my way through two hours of church. At least I'll be hiding behind the piano when I do it. Plus, as a bonus, Terence has to work this Sunday, so I get to manhandle all four of our kids through Sacrament Meeting on my own.

But why be a pessimist about it? I still have two days, and if worse comes to worst, I'll just rely on pain meds. Yes, I am a wimp. And if a little yard work puts me out of commission when I'm in my 30's, what on earth am I going to do when I'm in my 70's? Curl up into a ball and refuse to move? Maybe I need to be like my mom, and stay at 35 forever!