Work and more work.

.
.
After helping move someone else last weekend, I thought I was in good shape to help my mother move this week. I was correct. Still, I underestimated how much help my mother needed. As with the man I helped move, my mother was not at all prepared to move. We had to take things apart, box things up, carry the furniture, and take all of her appliances to her new house, and I helped further by helping my Mom unpack after the others left. Beyond, the move was from a fairly roomy and easy to navigate larger house to a very small, tight cornered, and complex house. I worked for 3 days, doing 14 to 16 hour days, and the move was not complete. I did help with all the heavy items and much of the lesser boxes and other things (all of her clothes were on hangers, so those were moved still on the hangers (3 closets full)).

I also did not care for many of those she was able to get to help. Only one other was able to work hard and lift well. I chose him for the other side of lifting as often as I could (for my, his, and the item’s benefit and simply to get it done more quickly). My mother lives several social and economic levels below myself, and it is not always comfortable (for either of us). She does not understand certain constraints I have and I do not agree that “anything goes” is just fine. Working with her can be quite frustrating. What? You do not believe in social and economic levels or differences? You are a fool. Those differences are as real and poignant as the communication difficulty between people of different IQ levels. Some of each of those is choice, some is not.

I suppose I rejected my mother’s choices before I graduated and moved away. She has never had an interest or aptitude for my choices. (I am not quite academic, I refute much of that, not quite religious as I am ignorant (though I am trying and learning), not quite rich (if not poor), but I am not a hick… at all, I am not sure where I fit, but I do know where I do not fit.) Still, I do love my mother, and I take her as she is (if I choose to have little or nothing to do with most of those with whom she chooses to associate). It is difficult. Difficulty engenders growth though, I think. I am hoping she will enter the Church and find her way (if she has not, though I do not think she has… yet, if I do believe she is seeking to a degree). Now, I know my way may never be her way (and possibly should not be as I can be wrong), I know there is a better way for her (and me). So, as I seek, I try to encourage her to seek. To that end, I have bought things for her to read (things I read, and some things more geared toward her ways as I understand them).

Still, I was able to work very hard and I did a very great deal of work. The other workers were there part time, while I was there full time, plus she had me do other things after everyone else left. None of the others worked more than one day, while I worked each. She is my mother though, and I did promise. I really was happy to do work, and for her, but I was very disappointed that she was not prepared for the move. She had several weeks (at least) to pack and move some of the lesser boxes. If she had packed two boxes a day and moved two more small boxes toward a central area, with the number of workers we had and over the time we had them, her move could have been completed in two days.

By the third day, I was shot. Still, I was able to do one more load and to help her sort boxes, set up her house a bit, and do some running. That last load I did myself, both packing and unpacking two open interior SUVs. If the material was just boxes and clothes, the filled the back ends of both vehicles. The temperature was in the high 80’s to low 90’s with humidity between 57% and Lots%. I am bruised, scratched, and a bit sore. But, it is done, for me, unless she calls and I find that I have nothing on my schedule (yes, I said I would return if she needed me). She still has to figure out how to get the last of her move completed, but that is the price for being unprepared.

I did make it to Church today, to the Latin Mass. But I was not there in time to be an usher. I am quite disappointed, if the whole idea that I would usher this weekend itself was a mistake. I had indicated I would be here next Sunday, but the man I was in contact with this did not understand. So, I had to return earlier than I would have from helping my Mom move (though 3 days was enough). I could check my email at my Mom’s, but I could not respond and let him know. I am going to ask, one more time, that he forgive and give me another chance. Though I plan to begin working out again, that is quite different from 9 hour plus days of harder manual labor. I am thinking, if I can wake up that is, that swimming and working out will be like vacation after this last week. Plus, I will be in air conditioned places while I work out.

Yes, I will begin swimming again tomorrow. I am not sure how to sleep enough or how I will be able to wake up in time, but I will do my best. My ability to follow my schedule still seems problematic, so I will just do what I can. But some things really are pushing me on. My chest is now muscle. There is some fat, but it will not be confused with “man boobs” anymore. I still need to buy some fitting underwear too. And though I weigh 300, I am no longer the same 300. This is going to be a slow process, even with these gains and signs I realize all I will get is small improvements over months and years. If I can even get back to a decent physique, it will be from years of fairly consistent work. If it turns out I cannot get to a fine body again, I will definitely be able to become much stronger, much more fit, and gain a bit better tone and muscular mass.

You know, even though I cannot do everything I hope, that I have to work with those I do not wish to work with, and that nothing happens fast enough, I am enjoying my changing world. I like to work, I thought I did and now I know. I enjoy being useful and welcome. I love being with people. And I like some of the challenges involved with it all. All the bad included into it, life is so much grander when I leave my cave and venture forth. I hope my grumpy nature is not all that people see coming (though I like people to know I have a need for personal space and that I have high expectations and real moral and ethical limits). My prudishness is not how I wish to be known (though I am hoping a sense of personal propriety and humility is conveyed). I hope that I am not seen as a spoil-sport (though I want people to know drug abuse (including excessive alcohol use), and other illegal and immoral behavior, is not welcome in my presence). Yes, it is a tightrope walk, but… *get them off me* and *do not touch me* have their place with “be welcome” and “how may I help you?”.