I feel my vacation coming to a screeching halt.

For the last four or five months, I have been unfettered and alive. Okay, part of that time I was barely alive and if you counted all the tubes and leashes and medical devices I was attached to, “unfettered” may seem an incongruous term, but there wasn’t a moment that passed that I didn’t bask in my leisure and freedom. I felt thrust into the world of trust fund babies and other idle people who didn’t need to work for a living. It was glorious. If I wanted to get drunk by 10AM, I got drunk by 10AM. (OMG, what an amazing idea! I’ll be right back.)

Okay, everyone ignore the clinking of ice in my cocktail glass and let’s get back to the task at hand, and that is preparing me to ease back into the work force; if you don’t feel for me, feel for my unfortunate co-workers. They truly do have to suffer through this with me.

 I have to be on the job at the ungodly hours of 9AM on Monday. I’m not sure how to even begin to prepare for this unfortunate situation.  If only I were born wealthy instead of so damn good looking. I think I will just sit here and lament my dire situation in life.

Don’t you hate it when the Medical-Industrial Complex…

…closes circle on itself and says that same thing.

I saw my PT. She could find no obvious reason my arm would suddenly be hurting more. She was very kind. She never used terms like “whiny little brat” or “loser-boy”. She thought that it was a good thing that I had an appointment with my primary physicians. Maybe something could be done about my prescriptions.

I called my oncologists office. I spoke with an RN who I didn’t know. She pretty much echoed my PT.

They both were quick to mention that nerves heal slowly, and after what I have been through, they may not heal totally. They were kind of “suck-it-up” speeches. I may get better, or this may be the new reality. We will find out over the next couple of years.

Food for thought

I read a book.

It was a bit of a tough read, but it wasn’t the verbiage or the grammar that gave me trouble. The book was “The Life of Pi”, and for those of you unaware, one of the main characters, a 450# Bengal Tiger, is named Richard Parker.

I knew that going in and thought I was completely prepared. I mean, Richard was a good actor, but I can’t quite picture him pulling off a role as a tiger. Yes, Max taught him the attitude and some of the basic vocabulary, but there was still the size issue and the movement that would stifle my Richard Parker.

There it was, tucked in the pages of the book: Richard’s boarding pass for the flight to Reykjavik. It was an amazing vacation. I wish… I wish… But as that old saying goes, “Why don’t you wish in one hand and piss in the other and see which one fills up first.”

Notes on daytime TV

It’s not bad enough that I had to have major surgery, but now I am also free daytimes, while most everyone I know is at work. I get lonely. I err. I turn on the TV. The quality of viewing options is amazing.

Take Jerry Springer. Everyone on that show is currently in a sexual relationship of some kind, with someone that they shouldn’t be. And after everyone has admitted to their extra-curriculum affair, they all get involved in a mighty rumble to see who is the absolute stupidest. Sex and violence in the same hour… be still my heart!

Then there is “The Young and the Restless”, or as Wayno used to say, “The Hung and the Breastless.” Occasionally they will throw in a stray murder or medical emergency to spice up the show, but it is really nothing more than a cast of people having sex with people they shouldn’t have sex with.

And let us not forget the infomercial for the Amazing Moveable Cooktop Thingy, that brazes and bakes and cooks and steams and sautées and damn near everything else that can be done to food-type stuff. All you have to do is program the puppy (the programming procedure is currently part of the entrance exam to Cal Tech), and presto, you’ve got the time required to have sex with someone that it is totally inappropriate to have sex with and dinner will be ready when you are done.

Or you can just switch over to the sports channel and watch the 1997 National Collegiate Badmitton championship’s first round game between a couple of college teams you’ve never heard of before. And you can tell by the looks on the competitors faces that they wish they were having the inappropriate sex that everyone is having on the other channels.

Daytime TV sucks the big one. There, I said it. I have purged my soul.

In those rare moments…

When writer’s block doesn’t have me speechless…

Tom does his part to keep me silent.

Dare to Dream

Lying in bed this morning I realized that I had left a bowl of fluid on the kitchen floor in front of the sink.  It was a bowl of the gooey, icky, sticky, slimy fluid of unknown origin. And to make things worse, I had kicked it over during the night, so now it was a horrific scum disaster encompassing the majority of the kitchen floor.

And the last of the rotating sisters rotated out weeks ago, leaving me once less option for cleaning the mess in the kitchen. I did contemplate calling, but thought that might come across as me being a bit bitchy.

So, I said horrible things to Max about his lineage as I stumbled out of bed and I grumbled at Tom as I passed his perching point of the edge of Tommytown. I staggered into the bathroom and grabbed a couple of towels to clean up the gross mess. As I enter the kitchen, I threw the towels down in total disbelief.

It was a dream, only a dream. If it had been a real life experience, I would still be on my hands and knees cleaning the kitchen floor.

Just an interesting tidbit.

My Great Uncle Dale and his wife Hattie spent the majority of their lives in Ottumwa, Iowa. For the last 25 years of Dale’s live they lived at the same house on Queen Anne Ave. Hattie may have stayed in the house (she could have added another 45 years to the residency) or she may have moved to another residence, I’m not sure.

 I have too much time on my hands. I’ve been surfing the internet for houses for sale. Great Uncle Dale and Great Aunt Hattie’s home is for sale. And for a very reasonable price!

Max and I chatted this afternoon.

And it wasn’t one of our ordinary talks. You know, the ones that start out with my telling him he’s a handsome cat and has wonderfully soft fur, and then he says some rather harsh things regarding my ancestry, throwing in more than one expletive.

No this time he told me I was handsome and that he withdrew his claim that my mother wore army boots. He purred and gave me a gentle head butt. He was an adorable cat. It was a totally amazing experience.

And then it dawned on me. Tom must be slipping something into his water dish. I just need to find out what it is so I can force feed it to Max every day.

Good Days and Bad Days

Yesterday was a bad day. I woke at 4AM, thanks to a screechy cat and a full bladder. I tried to gather my wits and begin the day, but my wits weren’t into being gathered. I was dizzy and confused. It was all I could do to get to the bathroom and back without falling. Needless to say, that screechy cat went treatless until about 11AM.

So, the first half of my day was spent in bed and the second half was spent feeling a general malaise. I got little accomplished. I guess the high point of the day was that I never fell over. I say take your victories where you can get them, even if you do have to scrape the bottom of the barrel.

Today, I feel much better and my wits have allowed me to gather them. I no longer fear falling. I’ve gone for two walks, done the dishes and just generally been a housekeeper on the mend. And I remember a year ago today. Richard and I spent our last morning in Cape May, having a wonderful breakfast on the veranda of our hotel. We packed our bags and fetched the car and by now were exploring the Jersey Shore.

I miss him; more than words can convey.