I'm Gonna Soak Up The Sun

This has winter has been cold and dry with only a few glimpses of the sun and lots of sullen clouds. Then there was all kinds of weather to deal with in addition to my moods and hot flashes that actively contribute to shrinking glaciers and rising sea levels.

The Omicron covid peak is in rapid decline in the United States, for which I am grateful. I have more vaccinated friends that got sick with this particular variant than unvaccinated friends. Thankfully everyone who has been sick is recovering, regardless of vaccine status.

I tried to help a former student of Andy's in the beginning of January, but got so emotionally entrenched in a short time that both Andy and my therapist said I had to completely distance myself. That was poorly received and I wish the individual the best, but I will never put my neck out like that again. Andy has hundreds of students every semester, sometimes the numbers swell to over 600 depending upon enrollment. Mental health among the student population took a nosedive during the pandemic and the reaction of administration officials, those individuals with fuzzy job descriptions and just for show annual performance reviews, is to pretend none of it is real. The University of Iowa President and Provost offices will be moved this year from Jessup Hall to the brand new University of Iowa Art Museum. The old museum took on an inch of water above ground level during the 2008 Iowa River flood, which was enough water that Lloyds of London refused to insure the art collection if it was put back into that building. An inch of water doesn't sound like much, but the entire basement was submerged, and all utilities were lost. Thankfully, the bulk of the art collection was evacuated, and has been on loan mostly to the Figge Museum in Davenport, also built on a flood plain but with much better contingencies in place for times when the Mississippi River overflows her banks.

There are inadequate social support safety nets for everyone suffering and in need of assistance, particularly in red states like Iowa. I don't think tax hikes are the answer and privatization is also a crappy option. Based on my years at the UI, watching the gears turn from many angles, quietly taking notes, then heavily editing meeting minutes to crop out the bad news afterwards, the problem is at the top. It's not the people on the ground, not professors or mental health professionals (except when compromised, like the "embedded therapists" now popularly hired as snitches to report unrest to management). The problem is management itself, from the President to the flurry of deans and dean-lettes, all depleting resources that would be much, much better allocated elsewhere. It's possible that some people earn those $300-600,000 administrative salaries. I'm sure they have to listen to a lot of problems. The difference between the administrators today and those of 10 and more years ago is that today's people just don't care. They will gladly smile when presented with researched based findings of student failings, then they have an underling write a paper on lessons learned, or whatever today's rallying cry is for, "We tackled the problem! It's dead! Move on!" There's always the timeless, "My hands are tied," and "This is a problem for the legislature." They don't care. They just want to collect their salary and keep their head off the cutting block long enough for their sign on incentives to mature. Then, it's off to another university, another state, another swamp.

Today, I soaked up the sun. If you don't remember the Cheryl Crow song, here is the link so you can give it a listen, and read the lyrics. I'm gonna soak up the sun while it's still free. I'm gonna soak up the sun before it goes out on me. Yesterday evening, I had my gorgeous Akasha septum ring inserted at my local friendly piercing studio, Release Body Modification. My initial septum piercing, a lovely rose gold curved barbell, was so tightly screwed on that I sorely bruised my nose on Friday when trying to remove the ball ends. It was impossible. I told APP piercer Steeve about my lame attempt and warned him that my nose was still swollen, and that those balls were tight. I brought along my Setevos hinge ring as a backup in case my septum wasn't ready to be stretched from 16 to 14 gauge. Steeve examined what was going on and was optimistic that he could get the Akasha in; my septum was healing great and ready. Getting the barbell off was no walk in the park, and I had a sneezing fit midway through that required a pause. I giggle thinking about how that sensation causes me to sneeze, and that it's actually really common among people with septum piercings. A fair amount of people get nauseous and some even vomit, so I am grateful I am a sneezer and not a puker. The Akasha was inserted and clicked securely into place and I FUCKING LOVE IT.

Andy and I regrouped at our RAV4 after I had my new jewelry inserted, and I drove us to Havela, a restaurant in Coralville that has exquisite Indian cuisine. They also have seating that is mostly tiny booths best suited to people under 150 pounds. The hostess, a matter of fact matron that didn't have time or energy to sugarcoat, took one look at my ample bust and then at the booths. I saved her the rest and said, "There's no way we'll comfortably fit in a booth, can we please have one of the tables?" She sighed with relief and said, "Certainly!" We received menu books with page after page of delicious items and ordered enough food to take home enough leftovers that we both had full lunches today. Everything was wonderful and we agreed it had to become a monthly outing for us. Maybe in three months we'll visit again. Towards the end of our meal, an ornery Grub Hub driver had words with the hostess, and she fired back. I had a panic attack. I'm acutely tuned in to disagreements and conflict in my immediate environment, particularly in unfamiliar settings. It's part of the PTSD I live with, and it has gotten a lot worse after going on three years of not leaving the farm much due to the pandemic. The driver, who was wearing filthy clothes, complained to the matron that she wasn't respecting him. I looked at Andy, who made a face that told me he was also listening, but that the situation was not a threat. Afterwards, we talked about the incident on the car ride home. He assured me that the world is just shittier now and that type of interaction is common place. It's not normal, but it happens all the time. We had a pleasant drive home and I was happy to feed the dogs and change into pajamas.

We both slept in this morning, after I got up at 7 am to let the dogs in the yard and then feed the parrots before climbing back into bed. I had to put Prins into his kennel in the dog room before I went back to bed.

Dove went into season at the beginning of February, and pulled Celine into heat with her on February 9. We kept Dove and Prins apart during her days of standing heat, which started early and seemed to go for over a week. Dove will be two years old next week and we will likely breed her during her next season. Celine came slowly into heat with initial swelling and light bleeding late in the evening on February 9. I took her and Prins on Monday February 14 for brucellosis blood tests and both are negative for the bacteria. My vet enthusiastically texted the results to me, along with, "Let the fun begin!" I expected Celine to come into standing heat, which is when she ovulates and will be receptive to Prins' advances, by Friday February 18. I was so nervous that Celine was totally unreceptive to Prins that I messaged one of my mentors yesterday, who assured me that it will happen but on Celine's timeline. Ten days past the start of a season is the normal average time for a female to start to ovulate, but it's just an average. Today, Day 12, Celine is less grumbly towards Prins and looks visually more swollen in her vulva area. She's still advancing, not coming out of heat, so that's a good thing. There's an outside chance that she won't ovulate this cycle, since it was triggered by Dove, but I am not going to count my chicks crushed until I see signs that Celine is not progressing.

Andy used the antique crepe maker he inherited from his Grandpa Hosmanek today for the first time. I took a bunch of selfies in the sun in the dog yard while he went through multiple batches of batter to perfect the technique and produce a tall stack of paper thin crepes. We sat down for brunch at 2 pm, filling our crepes with variations of sweet mascarpone cheese, locally canned fruit preserves, and imported hazelnut chocolate spread. I asked Andy if he would take some close up pictures of my Akasha in the sparkling sun, and he graciously agreed, so after brunch I put on a bit of makeup and he took a few pictures. Celine, with the rest of the dogs, pouted in the dog yard while we cavorted a few yards from them. After Andy announced that he thought he had a few good pictures, I opened the gate to let Celine slip out of the dog yard. I scooped her up after she stomped through the mud, and Andy took a few adorable pictures that I will love forever. Little Red is my soul dog, the Red Rodent From Mars, Ringleader of the Iowa Vallhooligans.