Feeling rather better now. Much less pain. I can walk around more like a normal person at this point (without clutching my side the whole time). This is all good.
Been trying to catch up on my acres of work, hence less posting than might be expected.
As such, I have so very little to say. Here is how my days go:
About 1pm: Wake up.
2pm: Manage to get out of bed after reading paper and drinking coffee Boy has ever so thoughtfully gotten for me (he's on dog duty what with my surgery and all, much to his misery). Move self to couch. Arrange blankies, beverages, pets, computers, remotes, and telephone around self thus that self is not required to move until self has to pee.
2pm to 4.30pm: Attempt to work. Watch awful television instead. Glare at pets who keep trying to walk on chest, especially cats. Play solitaire game #47,459. Get irritated at self for playing solitaire game #47,459 instead of working. Console self by watching another rerun of 7th Heaven, laugh at the characters.
4.30pm to 7.30pm: Ponder ways of obtaining food. Pee seven thousand times. Consider killing cats who only ever want to sit on the place that hurts the most. Nap in increments of 3.5 minutes, woken up by said cats and sometimes one of those extra-loud car commercials.
7.30pm to 7.45pm: Work.
7.46pm: Thank the sweet lord that the Boy is home with food because self was going to starve to absolute death and did I mention that PMS has also happened?
7.46.12pm to 8pm: Eat.
8pm to 11.30pm: Watch gobs of awful television. Make sad puppy eyes at Boy who has to take out dog so pity for self outweighs his hatred of the dog. Beg for Sour Cream and Onion chips (remember PMS?). Change bandage. Tell cats they are REALLY pissing self off now and self is only going to say it ONE MORE TIME.
11.30pm to 12.30am: Work intermittently between glancing at more awful television and further games of solitaire. And reading random web sites.
12.30am: Decide that self is a worthless piece of poo for not managing to get a goddamned thing done. Write in diary instead. Hope that fellow diarylanders still love self even though self has been a worthless piece of poo.
1.30am: Kill cats.
1.32am: Go to bed.
1.33am to 6.36am: Toss, turn, etc, attempting to find non-existent comfortable position. Glare at corpses of cats. Yank sleeping Boy's arm from self's chest about 100 million times because it HURTS. Kick sleeping Boy's legs off self because it's HOT. Read chapters of boring awful book. Read anything with letters on it. Consider pills, decide against. Stare. Stare more. Be haunted by the spectre of work undone. Hate self. Pee 467 times.
6.37am: Fall asleep.
- onehanded
