Tuesday, January 29, 2013

 "That terrible mood of depression of whether it's any good or not is what is known as The Artist's Reward." ~Ernest Hemingway

"On the road of experience, I'm trying to find my own way.
Sometimes I wish that I could fly away
When I think that I'm moving, suddenly things stand still
I'm afraid 'cause I think they always will.

And I'm looking for space
And to find out who I am
And I'm looking to know and understand
It's a sweet, sweet dream
Sometimes I'm almost there
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
And sometimes I'm deep in despair..."

~John Denver, Looking For Space

It's been a week since my laminectomy. Apparently, according to my surgeon, the hospital staff and the physical therapist I met yesterday, I'm doing incredibly well
I wish I felt incredibly well. 
I don't. I am exhausted and in pain. I'm frustrated because I'm limited to doing anything other than sitting on the couch looking like I rolled downhill in an old barrel. 
Everyone keeps telling me the same thing. 
"Do what they tell you to do...and how they tell you to do it." 
"No matter how good you feel....take it slow....take it easy...don't be stupid."
There is double the danger of hurting myself even worse  than before due to the fact this past surgery was in the exact same spot where there had been a previous surgery, with the added complication of scar tissue from the latter. 
It's frustrating but I do the point they are making. 
There is a ton...literally a ton....if I put all the shit I have to take care of on one of those truck scales you see along the interstate it would weight just about a ton...I'm pretty sure...a ton of stuff that I have to do. But I can't.
I can't lift a gallon of milk. There is no vacuuming. I can't make the bed. i'm not allowed to bend over to put on my own shoes. It hurts to sit at the computer to work. It's hard to get on and off the toilet. 
I'm not supposed to drive. 
I might as well be strapped into a dolly like Hannibal Lecter. 
My sleep schedule is way off. 
I can't remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep. 
I think I was 7 and the last game of hide-n-go-seek one summer's eve had worn me out completely. If I only I could play now. I'd be a crappy 'hider' and a really lousy 'finder.' Then I would beat myself up for ruining the game and then my mind would race and I would toss and turn and...then...well...there you go. 
I need a break from myself. 
I'm sick of me right now...how I look...what I'm doing...how I'm doing...what I am saying...
Nothing seems to be working right now. 
This was a crappy post. 

and that's 'Jody' with a 'y'
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