He hasn’t kept any food in since day before yesterday’s lunch. Threw up Wednesday’s dinner, and all three meals yesterday.
I gave him half his usual lunch, soaked and soft, yet it came back up.
I gave him a small amount of rice with chappy—his usual bad tummy diet—but that came up too.
Worse, he hasn’t asked for his breakfast today. He’s clearly uneasy, and not in his happy state.
Neither am I.
Yesterday I was happy. I ran. I had both the boys with me, and both were in a happy, loving mood. I did a lot of work. Good work. I’d finished reading my 36th book of the year, and started a new one. I saw the final episode of season two of ‘The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel‘. I went to sleep, happy.
Today is not as good.
Boy threw up in the night. Then again a few moments ago. This means there’s no running for him (today), or me (this morning).
What’s worse is that I felt a sense of relief on realising that I don’t have to run this morning. This is not a good sign. It’s a very bad sign.
The morning started bad when I drank yesterday’s leftover coffee instead of making a new one today. Then I topped up my blood caffeine levels with a tea. Both of them before 07:30.
At 08:30, I am feeling the too-much-caffeine unease and the boy is feeling post-throwing-up unease. And yet, we aren’t hugging and laying in the bed. I’m working (except for the break to write this status update), and he’s sleeping behind me on the carpet.
Hopefully the pendulum will swing again and we’ll both be on the up by the evening. Paws crossed!
YESS!!
Awesome! Duesome! Cuesome! Pawsome!
After a week of research and 2 days of implementation struggle, I just got the first step to work.
I may have celebrated too loudly in my chair, arms up in the air (like I just scored a goal). The boy got up from his sunny lounge to come check on me :)
Time to reward him with a walk. Continue reading Small wins, small celebrations
I went out and ran, about 10 mins after posting the last post. Writing the fears our helped.
It was an easy ~11 mile run on one of my regular circuits—Mount, Sandy lane, Loseley park, Artington, Shalford, town bridge, riverside and return through Sandy lane. I changed the return loop today to double over the Artington—Loseley section.
The run started well when I met my favourite doggo Toby on the warmup lap. He was busy sniffing something in the woods but came running as soon as I sat down and called him. Checked with his guy about cricket; he didn’t look too happy. Met Toby again on the lap return. He refused to leave the path and go with his guy. Waited for me in the middle of the path, tail wagging furiously. I love that kid :D
Running form was really good, and legs were feeling nice after last night’s stretching and foam rolling. Didn’t feel a thing in the back.
I saw a way marker for the Pilgrim marathon—out local trail marathon—on the Sandy lane. That’s the return route. I didn’t see any runners so thought it must be late. When I reached Loseley park, I saw a steady stream of runners returning. Turns out they’d reversed the route this year to celebrate an anniversary run.
The next section, all the way to Shalford, was fun. I cheered and encouraged all the runners. Most said a nice thanks. Some just smiled. Some grimaced… but that was really a smile that came out as a grimace after 18 miles on sandy, hilly trails. I understand their suffering; I’d run this race as my first marathon ago years ago.
The section from Shalford to town bridge was fast and normal. Didn’t meet any runners, dogs, or dog runners, or runner dogs, or any other interesting thing. It was nice though—mostly in shade, good running form, only gently rolling except for the Ferry lane.
Oh I did meet a cat. It was at the top of the Ferry lane climb. That’s my usual breather spot. Just as I stopped, this cat came to me, meowing and rubbing herself on my legs. I squatted and gave it a few rubs. It instantly wrapped herself between my feet and started arching for the rubs. She wasn’t happy when I said goodbye and started on the run again.
Ran from near the town bridge to St. Catherine’s docks on the riverside. First bit had a strong sweet smell of MJ. Next bit was full of young couples holding hands and walking on the riverside. The final bit was the best.
Met a young man carrying a little dog. The dog had decided it was tired after some running around, and was making dad carry it back. Reminded me of the days when Chewie used to pull that trick on me :)
This one was just 13 weeks old—only his second week out into the wild, wonderful world. No wonder he went bonkers and emptied himself.
It was also funny hearing about him from both the guy and his partner. Even though he was carrying him, she seemed to be way more excited about the puppy. (Again reminded me of our situation, where I got the dog and took care of it, but R sounded like she was the one bonkers about him)
The final section back from St. Catherine’s to home was hard. I was getting thirsty and tired. The lovely ladies at the Pilgrim marathon feed-station at Loseley park offered me water and cookies. I didn’t take the cookies, but water was more than welcome. We chatted a bit about the new route, the weather, and the runners. A mile later, I met the final (on my route) set of Pilgrim marshals. They remembered me from my run out—brown guy running around in Surrey countryside while loudly cheering all those runners. They cheered me on my way back over the stiles and up towards the Sandy lane. Taking the Artington route instead of Sandy lane had been a good decision!
It was on Sandy lane that my legs finally started giving up. It may have been the heat. But I guess it was also the realisation that all I’d eaten all morning was a peanut butter toast. (Though with enough peanut butter to feed a small family in Eros). The run up the steep Compton down was a killer. Probably the first time this year I had to take a break on that climb.
I managed to finish with a small first gate loop to take it close to 11 miles. Even on that, I couldn’t manage my usual sprint over the last 300m.
Despite the slow, painful finish, it was a good, happy run. Toby, Pilgrim runners, the cat, the 13wo puppy, and all the Pilgrim volunteers made it great. Even the golden retriever who teased me with his confusing mix of barks and tail wagging approaches helped. Glad I went out :)
I want to go for a run. I’m dressed up and warmed up for the run.
I’ve been dilly-dallying and delaying the run; for almost two hours now.
I’m afraid of the run for some reason. Maybe it’s the bright sun. It gives the appearance of it being hot. I gate running in hot weather.
Maybe it’s the chilly breeze. The temperature is in low teens. I haven’t run in low teens since spring (and yesterday).
Maybe it’s the distance. Even though it’s just marginally more than yesterday.
Maybe it’s not having a backup. I can’t call R to pick me up. Even though I haven’t done that in years. Nor am I taking my phone.
Maybe it’s the fear of dehydration. Even though I’ve drunk almost two litres of water so far today.
Maybe it’s the stiff back. Even though it never hurts while running, specially once the body warms up.
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I should just go for the run.
I’ve got a really stiff lower back—I’m barely able to turn sides while sleeping, or easily get up from the sofa. Tinnitus was really, really, really bad last night—I wanted to take drill to my head. It’s still bad, but not last night bad. I’m losing blood again.
The tinnitus drove me to bed early. But sleep didn’t oblige, so I finished off half a book last night. (Phil Knight’s Shoe Dog)
The boy hugged me and slept all night. For an hour in the morning, while I drank coffee and read this week’s Economist in bed, he wrapped himself on my thighs and drifted into deep sleep. I think I got all the lost blood back.
I didn’t run for two days. The heart wasn’t in it. Legs were a bit stiff. The back was really stiff. And it’s been surprisingly chilly.
I did go for long walks with the boys, without headphones. Gave me a lot of time to think. Helped me sort out a few work hurdles. Kept me sane. The boy, I think, enjoyed the walks too; specially after he found a good ball and made me chuck it all through a walk.
Today I ran—at Parkrun and then home after the Parkrun. Amit helped by driving us there and then bringing back my jacket, phone and water-bottle so I could run home freely. Both the runs were fabulous. I took it easy on the Parkrun, still finished under 25 mins. Met lots of friendly dogs too—Jasper and Danny were back at the parkrun :)
(Amit got rewarded with a new parkrun PB himself)
I got a 3⭐ review on my favourite extension :(
Then I got four 5⭐ reviews and a new subscriber on the android app, and another new subscriber on the favourite extension!
At work, I’m struggling with structuring the final opinion note. It’s partly because the meaty issues have already been dealt with so I’m not struggling to focus much. It’s also got something to do with my general inability to focus over last week or so.
I managed to publish an update to the Todo.txt android app—Android 10 compatibility upgrades. I also started work on a new (small) side project.
I ran out of clean underwear. (R washes our regular clothes, I wash our exercise clothes).
I’ve since cleared—washed, dried, folded—two loads of washing, one each of regular and exercise clothes. The dishwasher is on its second run. The backyard is clean. Groceries have been topped up. Bins have been emptied. Boy is happy. And I have load of clean underwear again.
I think I’ve earned myself the super single-dad title.
I may struggle to get off the sofa after publishing this, but at least I’ve got a smile on my face and a content boy sleeping next to me. Little things.
I did a taster read of Mark Manson’s book on not giving a fuck. In the first chapter he goes on about how people give too many fucks and become overwhelmed and unhappy, or give no fucks and become uncaring assholes.
I thought about it on Chewie’s morning walk.
Sure there are people who fall in one of those two catagories—too many fucks given and not enough fucks given. But I don’t think most people fall in either of these. Most people give just the right the amount of fucks that they can afford/handle.
The problem isn’t with how many fucks we give, but what do we give a fuck about.
Often the choice is between giving a fuck about things/people that are
In such a choice, easy wins most times. And that’s what causes the unhappiness.
As an individual choice, giving a fuck for something easy results in an easy win, and provides a nice emotional boost. But when the life becomes full of too many easy wins, and none of the important ones, that’s when the trouble starts. That’s when the heart starts hating even the wins. That’s what leads to the unhappiness.
[ Perhaps the book will move on to this distinction. After all I’ve just rushed through the first chapter for now :) ]
This is how he sleeps. With five pillows.
I use one. R uses three. I’ve always been on her case for using three pillows.
The boy has learnt from her, and then left her behind.
Then there’s me.
I’m not allowed, by R, to put dishes in the dishwasher. She has her method of placing the dishes, and I apparently mess it up.
I’ve been trained to rinse the dishes and place them on the kitchen top above the dishwasher. She puts them in later.
Last night I cleared the sink after dinner and placed the dishes above the dishwasher. Took me a moment to realise that she’s been in India for a couple of days, and I am allowed to put the dishes in while she’s away. My training has been thorough.
To confuse the anthropomorphizing further, my dog learns better than me, while I’m trained better than him!
A tree in my neighbour’s backyard has grown over his fence, across the alley between our houses, and into my backyard. It’s been squeezing a bay leaf tree in my backyard against the garden shed. If his tree is not trimmed soon, my bay leaf tree will die. I needed to bring this up with my neighbour so he could hire a gardener and get the tree trimmed back.
I am an uber conflict avoider. The thought of asking someone to do something, with even a slight potential of conflict gives me a shiver.
I am also Indian. So the idea of people refusing to do what’s their responsibility is almost the natural default for me.
The combination of these two characteristics meant that for last few weeks I’ve been playing the encounter with my neighbour in my head. My fears and my overactive imagination meant it had gone far enough that we were filing police complaints against each other for ASBO12.
Anyway, I saw him today when we returned from the evening walk. I waved at him and approached.
Me: Hey Scott, I’m sorry, but do you have a minute.
S: Yes, of course.
Me: I’m sorry, but there’s a tree in your backyard that’s grown over into mine and is strangling one of my trees.
S: Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t notice it.
Me: No worries, it’s right at the far corner.
S: I’m sorry. I’ll get the gardener to come do something about it.
Me: No worries. Thanks.
S: Cheers. I’m sorry. See you later.
No, we didn’t end up filing ASBO complaints against each other. We just said ‘I’m Sorry’ to each other a dozen times, smiled, and carried on.
I can breathe now :)
The Benjamin, a 100 US Dollar bill, has long ruled the world. It is the highest denomination US currency note; nicknamed after Benjamin Franklin, one of the greatest US leaders of all time, whose image it carries.
Now that the US has a new greatest-ever leader of all the time, it is time to introduce a new highest denomination bill with his image.
The Donald.
A USD 500 note with President Donald Trump’s image on one side and a golden, instead of green, hue to the note.
Make it happen, USA. U S A. U. S. A. U. S. A.