Recovering from having body parts removes SUCKS.
It isn’t all popsicles and roses here, people.
Although there are a LOT of popsicles.
You’d think getting to eat sherbet, popsicles and smoothies for a week or two would be kind of cool, and you’d be right. However, I’m real tired of food that quickly devolves back into liquid form and, at this point, I’m pretty sure I’ve consumed enough fruits to qualify me as one. I totally love eating all these sugary fruity things without any guilt whatsoever, though.
Not that I ever really have guilt about eating dessert, but in the ungodly amounts I’m consuming them at the moment a normal human would be concerned. But hey, I’ve got holes in my mouth. Give me some grace.
I ran out of pain meds on Day 5, the most painful recovery day according to the nurse I talked to as I croaked over the phone my need for more of the good stuff. Thankfully we got all sorted out and I’m back to my drowsy state of semi-soreness, not quite able to carry on a normal conversation comfortably (although I can still order my coffee with clarity if I can manage to make it downtown to get it. Pretty sure I’m not supposed to be driving, but this is small town America. What can I hit, really?).
When I’m hurty I become even more irritable and prone to whine than I usually am. Regular events become a cause for a few alligator tears dropping down my cheeks so this morning, just as I was about to lay down for a nap, a concerning email from the British Consulate saying there was a problem with my visa application popped me out of bed quicker than the sounds of the ice cream truck rolling down the street would. Apparently there was a problem with the return address label we had (although we followed all the directions… I’m sorry, but fuck visa stuff. Fuck it) so my dear parents had the patience to sort through that mess for an additional 3 hours.
Yeah. I can’t. Can’t do it. In the end this all better turn out ok because right now I’m pretty done with the entire thing. I know living in my parent’s guest room isn’t a permanent solution and grad school is going to be awesome, but until I’m standing in Belfast attending my first class I’m not going to bet on it actually happening. Too much bullshit in the way, bullshit that the gal on codeine with holes in her throat can’t handle with poise and grace.
Once that drama was over I reveled in my recent purchase of a pair of red jeans, which I have always wanted, and continued writing for a few new freelance clients. Now that I have a lot of time to kill I’m watching lots of movies, enjoying my parent’s cable and writing a lot, which I love! It’s much nicer being able to write in my pjs on my parent’s comfy couch than in a boring office.
My mom and I attended lunch with my grandmother, great aunt, and two other elderly ladies (who are also probably related to us somehow) which they have every week at one of the local cafes, a total dive with more small town character than you can shake a stick at. The average age of the group sans my mother and I was about 89! I had a great time- these women had the best stories and listening to them all talk over each other, complain about random things (TV is the root of evil. Not all evil, but some, dontcha know) and generally just crack each other up was great. I also got to eat french fries, which was so stinking fantastic.
My mom and I also took my grandma to the ‘big city’ where we caught the movie ‘The Hundred Foot Journey.’ If you haven’t seen it, go watch the trailer which you can find here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6H8pAKKkgQ
This movie made me laugh! There were cultural misunderstandings, crazy family members and more delicious food that I can’t wait to try someday. Case in point, great movie, take your mom, go see it. You’ll like it. I did.
Poof. Nothing else to report. I miss beer. And real food.
Maybe I’ll have another popsicle.