I don’t know what it is about spring, but I always like to get going with some projects.  As you’ll recall I said I’d painted the textured kitchen ceiling last week.  I was so proud of myself because it’d nearly killed me due to the amount of pressure required.  I thought if I wasn’t in shape from the gym it wouldn’t even have been possible.

When I told some of the women at the gym about it, one of them said to the assembled, “Don’t they usually spray those textured ceilings?”  A few of the women nodded, and I scoffed, and said, “Well I did it myself with a roller.”

Then last Wednesday I went to Osoyoos to celebrate Gerry’s 96th birthday.  It’s actually on March 13th, but his son David was there from Virginia, so we held the party early.  You may know of Gerry’s famous son, David Bruck, as he’s an expert on defending people if they’re faced with the death penalty.

That night I noticed my back was feeling funny, but I just assumed I’d slept in a bad position.  It was fine by the time I drove home later on Thursday morning.  However on Thursday night I was awakened dozens of times by horrible pains on one side of my mid-back.

I got up at 5:00 AM on Friday and took 3 Advil and stuck my back against an ice pack.  I noticed I wasn’t able to move.  Breathing was causing horrible spasms of pain, so I knew something more energetic, like standing, would likely kill me.  I considered calling 911, but decided it would hurt too much to get the phone, never mind punch in all those numbers.

After a few hours I was a lot better, and realized I’d had a bad muscle spasm from pressing like a lunatic on that paint roller stick.  Who does that kind of thing anyway?  But then by Sunday I felt so well I decided I’d better paint the interior of my bedroom closet.  This time no pushing was involved, so it was okay.

I’ve had my business cards re-vamped, and had the words Artisan Baker changed to Food Artisan.  I know it’s very pretentious, but baker no longer summed it up now that I’ve added the chocolate bark to my repertoire.  Have I mentioned how hard it is to have a sweet tooth, be on a diet, and have kilograms of Belgian chocolate in the house at all times?

I just weighed myself and am now in a really bad mood.  I gave away all of my fat clothes, except for a couple of pairs of pants.  I now live in those pants.  It all just seems so cruel when I witness what Nicky eats and manages to stay thin.

Last night after consuming a really thick, large pork chop and a giant portion of homemade scalloped potatoes, he ate toast thick with butter, cinnamon and sugar.  Two hours later he ate a large salad bowl of Froot Loops and full-fat milk.  It’s just not fair, it really isn’t.

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