Is this thing on? And by “this thing,” I mean my brain’s synapses. Which technically, then, should be “Are these things on?” which tells you the answer is no.
Hello. I know this is news to most of you, but I had surgery nine days ago. And here’s the irony: Whereas in most cases I make a huge, over-the-top, Dooce-level deal out of things and usually they turn out to be nothing, in this case I secretly thought my surgery
—did you know I had surgery?—
would be no big deal, just a few days under the weather, when in fact oh my god I have a brain cloud. My mind is just…not working.
I’ve phoned my doctor’s office, twice now, so let’s count down till she quits, and it turns out it’s normal to feel this foggy and out of it and slow as Mrs. Butterworth’s bodily fluids (is there still a Mr. Butterworth?), but man is it disconcerting. My rapier wit is all I had. Or at least my I-get-handsy-when-drunk wit.
I haven’t taken Percocet in a week, and have plans to dress as Huggy Bear, in a jaunty cravat, and sell it right outside my door. Maybe set up a lemonade stand of sorts. I haven’t even taken the Advil since Saturday. The pain is pretty tolerable, but of course remember I’m tough and no-nonsense like that buzz-cutted creature Demi Moore played. What was her name? Oh, right, Demi Moore.
Bah. Okay, I’m not THAT bad. And in fact today I feel a bit better, although I have no idea if this post is making any sense. OH! But I’m glad I thought of this! People have sent food and books and jewelry and so on and it’s SO NICE, and my mother takes the boxes, and I say to myself, “What a wonderful world” and also, “I’ll remember who sent this”
So I know I have not thanked people and I really apologize. I’ve been trying to keep up with who sent what but fog. Fog on the water.
Currently, I am sporting a baby-blue cardigan over a pair of pale-green cabbage rose pajamas. I have completed my look with lavender ankle socks. I haven’t put on clothes in 10 days. In fact, I’m washing my robes/pajamas right now, three at a time so I don’t lift more than 10 pounds, because when you have the support group I do,
it’s easy to get fur-clad. Really, if you were in the market for pets, mine have been a dream and I highly recommend you steal them for your next convalescence. Only two of the four are actively dying. Well worth the misdemeanor.
Look. I don’t know what’s wrong with Iris, exactly, but it isn’t good. And old Eds may last ages. I’ve had people throw Blu for him, since I can’t. I tried to toss Blu for him yesterday. Like, I sort of rolled it across the grass, since my mother and stepfather left for fun and profit and wild blue yonders and so on. I DO have backup friends and neighbors who said they’d help and I think Ima have to cash in my chips on getting someone to throw for Eds. Also I can’t lift the animals’ water dish, so today I put water in the kettle and kind of poured new water in there, but that’s disgusting. I want to pour it all out and start anew.
You know what occurs to me. I have a GIANT bowl down there, from back when we had Lottie. Before Garp bit Bonkie. I don’t NEED that giant of a bowl any longer with just one aged dog and three backup cats who don’t drink much because they’re all on keto. So what I can do is wait till the water level gets lower, later today, lift THAT, dump it out, and replace it with a reasonable bowl. Like, a Walter Cronkite bowl.
I’m glad we solved that together. This all has been good for my problem-solving skills.
Also, speaking of problem-solving, whilst my beleaguered family was here, which is a bit of a blur, or really a lot of a blur, we decided to watch my slides. I have slides and a slide projector that had belonged to my father, who was a photographer. And I was an only child. So basically the slides are his half of the 3940509204 photos taken of me from birth to age 11, when everyone divorced.
First, the slides and projector were up too high in the closet. I tried to reach them and felt self splitting in two, so I called my mother in. Who is shorter than me by four inches. See: fog.
So then we called my stepfather in, who is 9 feet tall, and he handed each slide box to me who really shouldn’t have been lifting them. See: fog.
Then we got the huge heavy clunky slide projector and took everything to the living room and of course had a terrible time finding where to plug it in because this house was built in 1922 before there were plugs and I have no idea how anyone watched cable in 1922 and they all must have been cranky.
So after dragging out not one but TWO power strips from other rooms, which involved unplugging all the things plugged into them in those rooms and finding the first power strip mysteriously didn’t work in the living room, after that, we finally got the projector turned on. It was mostly me in the cardigan and pajamas that turned it on.
Then my stepfather and I spent 49 hours trying to get the slides to rotate on the projector. There were the world’s most vague instructions on the back of the slides, instructions my stepfather, who has 79 degrees and also 98 Degrees including one of those easy-to-get medical degrees, could not comprehend.
After the fall of the Roman empire and the Revolution and Prince, we figured out how to get the slides to rotate. Then we just had to take the TV down so we could project the slides. I couldn’t do this, so my stepfather and mother did.
“Please try not to unplug the things in the back,” I said, as they unplugged all the things in the back.
Finally, FINALLY, we were ready.
Light bulb burned out on projector.
Now, see, anyone related to me by blood would have smashed everything with a bat, like in Office Space, but my stepfather very methodically found out what kind of new bulb we needed, then headed out with my mother to get one at a local store.
They were out of that particular kind.
Then we couldn’t figure out which plugs went where in the TV. TV is pretty much ALL I HAVE TO DO right now, so.
At this point, ANY NORMAL HUMAN would have shot up an entire stadium with a rifle, but my stepfather very methodically figured out the plug sitch and then ordered said bulb online, which came in the mail yesterday.
So yesterday, we finally, finally sat down, the three of us, to watch slides of my childhood, and we once again figured out how to put the slides on the machine the right way in order to rotate them, and my stepfather Job put the bulb in, and then?
The first set of slides were all vacation pictures from a trip my father took in 1981.
The good news is, we finally got to slides of my mother and me, and most of them were upside-down and flipped, and since I literally have nothing else to do I am going to turn the projector back on and methodically turn them all the right way during this, my convalescence.
I have to go, because London called and wants it fog back. I feel this is an excellent time to shower, as my washer cycle has ended so I won’t have one of those upsetting showers where it’s like you have a fever with the hot and the cold and the hot again. Those are the worst.
From the operations department,
P.S. Also, I mostly posted because poor Sadie, who’s not on any social media, kept leaving sad, “Hope you’re not dead” comments on my last post, whenever the hell that was. I’M ALIVE, Sadie! Sort of.