In a fit of complete self pity and sadistic masochistic glory, I’ve had the Dixie Chicks’ “Am I The Only One (Who’s Ever Felt This Way)” on my iTunes player on repeat for most of my waking hours today. Here’s an exerpt so you can see where this is all going:
There Is A Wound Inside Me / And It’s Bleeding Like A Flood
There’s Times When I See A Light Ahead / Hope Is Not Enough
As Another Night Surrounds Me /And It Pounds Me Like A Wave
God Help Me /Am I The Only One Who’s Ever Felt This Way?
Healthy, I know. (sigh)
I also can’t stop eating lasagna which means, of course, I’ve just run out of lasagna and I’m not sure what food I will turn to next. Grocery shopping would mean I’d need to put on pants, but the pants rub against my incisions although really, I’m much more opposed to just wearing pants at this stage than anything to do with the discomfort of them. Since I’m not scheduled to be back at work until at least Dec 1, I’ve fallen into this repetitive cycle – a pile of recovering goo enduring the textbook Stages Of Grief and Laproscopic Recovery. I limp around the house, take non-narcotic pills (bleh), eat tylenol (the real red ones because they’re prettier than the no-name stuff and yes, I am starting to take note of such little things), and nap because I get so bloody tired doing simple things and I guess it’ll continue to be like this while my holes heal. I can’t bring myself to agree to or like anything, but I get upset if I can’t have the things I just said I didn’t want. I’m a rollicking emotional hormonal freak, and ironically I felt yesterday that this is the week I’m finally surfacing from the struggle to breathe however I still can’t decide what I want, what would be good, what would make me feel better, what I should do. Maybe it’s all a cry for help – and if it is, could you pick up some carrot cake on your way over? Thanks, that’d be lovely.
I did pour some soap yesterday which wasn’t technically eating or moping or napping, and that does illustrate that I found a way to do something that isn’t moping but I’m not very pleased with it. The non-moping. The soap seems fine, and in fact matches the photo as taken by the Martha Stewart “Holiday” magazine I got the recipes from (is it just me, or have those publications gotten so much better since she did “hard time”?). Anywho, so I poured some goddamned soap to prove that I am NOT just dozing in my own stench on the couch while the rest of the world continues doing whatever they’ve been doing.
I quit taking or returning phone calls for the most part because I’m finding that it’s just not working for me. This surgical-recovery thing SUCKS. I occasionally forget this plan and do answer, regretting it deeply within moments. I either
a) burst into tears and make no sense while shocked friends on the other end of the line awkwardly offer cliches in a scampering attempt to make me feel better, quit bawling or just get the hell away and stop snotting up their phoneline, or
b) sink into depression when the chipper person on the other end gossips on and one about other people that I don’t really know nor really give a rat’s ass about. You see, at this stage I’m sure my own life should be the only issue that anyone in the entire universe should be talking about, conspiring to remedy, or attending to but I also want to be left completely alone. I’m such an enigma wrapped in a riddle covered in a blanket that could really use a wash.
Even the Oracle PL/SQL course that I’ve been waiting for for years and loving until two weeks ago seems too daunting and suddenly heading to campus, hell, even just leaving the house, seems like such a huge painful chore. I need it as part of the certification (yes, this girl’s getting her letters finally. Maybe. Trying. Not really today though. Fuck.) so I shouldn’t just throw my hands up and give up because in however much time it will take to get out of whatever-this-is, I’ll be so pissed at myself if I don’t complete the course. I really want to go back and ENJOY it like I was rather than drag my ass and try to stay awake and non-bawling. Because that would really make it a less-than-great place for others to be if they have to sit next to a weeping snoring me. Yeah, I bet I can too weep and snore at the same time. I loved my class, but now my body is broken and my soul is dented and it’s hard to get really enthused about programming when that’s clouding my head. (sigh) I definitely want more “good” painkillers so I don’t have to feel which of course my doctor spotted right off and has put me on drugs that prevent the pain in the first place rather than any narcotics to mask the pain or give me any fuzziness. I’m torn between liking him for that, or just thinking he’s a massive jerk. Mostly I’m moping and pouting while spontaneously breaking down into a puddle of my own crapulence.
Can I reiterate that I’m listening to country music, for god’s sake? My own whining and contradictory crap is making even me pissy.
As you can see, the grieving/healing process has moved to the “complete fucking chaos” stage.