Of exhaustion and the Havana Syndrome

The backyard pond turned puddle. Another strange occurrence this week.

As far as weeks in January go, this one has been, well, strange.

And, quite honestly, it seems like that’s how 2026 is shaping up to be based on recent geopolitical events. Strange.

This week, there’s been wind. Stupid, stupid gusty wind.

There’s been a nearby street project that has droned on for days. More on that later.

There’s been talk of Greenland. <ShakesHead>

There’s been nearly 60-degree days. I’m not complaining about that. I’m just noting it … Strange.

Plus, I’m a single dog parent this week. The Weed is in Orlando—where he says it’s ‘freezing’—for an aerospace conference. Note: According to my research, the current temperature in Orlando is 54 degrees. Not freezing, Bro.  

He calls daily to report on the fine dining he’s enjoying, lectures by former astronauts, and how tired he is. Traveling for work is exhausting, I’ll give him that.

Still, I will raise him one by sharing an exhausting experience for me on the homefront.

Wednesday night, I fell asleep with the TV on. Big mistake since one of my little dogs loves, LOVES, to bark at any animal that appears on the screen. Dogs, pigs, horses, goats, the Geico Gecko. You name it.

Fast forward to about 2:30 a.m. when an ad for Puppy Bowl XXI appeared. Dear Sweet Baby Jesus! Luka launched herself from The Weed’s side of the bed at tiny dog warp speed and began canine cursing at the puppies simply enjoying a game of ball on the TV.

Prior to that, I was asleep–not always a given—and startled enough by her outburst to bang my head on a nearby wall, knock over a glass of water on the nightstand, and reach for my weapon. Note: My weapon of choice is a single boat oar that once hung on our wall but now serves as my self defense when home alone with only two ankle-biting Australian shepherds to protect me. Sleep didn’t come easily that night. So, yes, exhausted here too.

Which brings me to the nearby street project I mentioned earlier that has been going on around our neighborhood. I’m not sure where it is. In fact, I drove around yesterday looking for it. No dice.

I can’t locate the project but I can report the low-tone droning noise coming from it likely has caused brain damage.

The monotonous, continuous droning goes on for hours. It stops at about noon when I imagine an ear-plugged worker in charge of this debilitating equipment breaks for lunch. Later, it starts up again.

During his call last night, after The Weed told me all about his day’s events, I shared my concerns about the street project.

The Weed: ‘What’s going on there?’

Me: ‘Well, it’s not freezing. The wind is a real son of a bitch, though. And, there’s a street project that’s killing my soul.’

The Weed: ‘What? It’s loud or something?’

Me: ‘Not loud. Just a droning sound. It’s like listening to a math professor. All day! I think I have Havana Syndrome.’

The Weed: ‘We’ll get you an analgesic balm or something for that.’

Married for nearly 30 years and you’d think he’d learn to respect, not mock, my daily plight. Again, no dice.

To wrap up this strange week in January, I plan to:

• Take a nice long walk and, hopefully, see some deer. Earlier this week, there was a four-point whitetail buck grazing in a pasture the dogs and I walked by. Pretty cool!

• Check on the geese trying to navigate the backyard pond that now is little more than a backyard puddle. The water is so low they can’t really get to it without landing on it or marching through the mud.

• Charge my noise-cancelling headphones to wear during the droning street work.

• Remind myself to turn off the TV before falling asleep. Blasted Puppy Bowl XXI!

Have I mentioned how strange this week in January has been?