Don’t Worry, I’m Still Alive
Not that you were worrying, judging by the fall in the site’s traffic. Bing! Assholes.
I left my public option plea up all weekend because I was hoping as many people as possible would see it. And if anyone visiting this site disagrees with it, thanks, you were okay with me possibly dying in a close, parallel universe.
So here starts another week at home. I’m going to Brooklyn for a visit this weekend, and then headed back to Westfield. I have my post-op with the surgeon a week from today, and depending on how I feel, I’ll either stay in Westfield a while longer, or at least try to spend some time in Brooklyn.
I’m at the point where I’m not so much in pain as I’m just very, very sore. Like the kind of sore that happens after they cut through skin, muscle, nerve and bone and then cut out part of your heart and replace it, and then everything has to fuse together and heal.
It’s one of life’s cruel ironies that healing hurts. You’ve gone through the trauma of getting injured — healing should be like an uplifting massage, not something that has you walking like Quasimodo and taking pills.
After trying to actually account for all the days I’ve sat around this house, I realized that, aside for my doctor’s appointment last Wednesday, I haven’t stepped foot in the outside world in over two weeks. That’s insane, Guantanamo-level shit.
Of course, I totally freaked out the one time I was out of the house, so there’s good reason for me not having left, but today, I’m gonna try to at least make a brief mid-day foray to Barnes and Noble. Hopefully nobody is there and I can buy a DVD in peace.
Then, I can come home and take my rightful spot back on the couch and watch it, refueled for another long stint at home.
