Saturday, December 01, 2007

I Should Buy Cheese To Go With This

I've been trying, on some level, to be upbeat about this whole head wound thing. I am, too, on the overarching life level. The scar will heal, the stitches will come out, the pain will go away.

On the other hand on the plain old day to day shit, shower and shave level that's all going to take a while.

There are moments when I want to actually peel my head like an over ripe plum, there's a lot of pain sometimes and total weird feeling most of the time. It also looks icky, really icky if you check it out too closely. Though I will soon write a love letter to v1c0d1n it also, er, well...slows digestion in the way that all narcotics do which must be taken care of. My new hair cut is not so sassy with stitches messing up the fall of the pseudo-bangs. I got my period today as if I didn't need insult added to my injury. And there's a truly ugly bout of prickly heat on the inside of my ankle.

You can picture me on the couch, with my head propped up, ice on my forehead and eyes, a comforter to keep me warm, a warmed rice bag on my stomach or back, my foot sticking out from under the comforter for the prickly heat and my house, the house that I cleaned so well for my party, is a sty. I am a vision, trust me. A vision surrounded by medical supplies and take out containers.

Please send plastic bags 'cause I'm running out and some cheese to go with my whine. Thanks.


  1. Seriously, I HATE that I can't do anything practical for you. Please know that, were I within striking distance, your house wouldn't be a sty and you'd be eating homemade mac and cheese.

    Don't worry about the plastic bags - I've been collecting them for you since you mentioned you were running low. Shall I mail them to you (I PROMISE to get them out tomorrow) or can you hang on until I see you around Christmas? (wait a minute - WILL I see you around Christmas? I just made a huge assumption there, didn't I?)

  2. Plastic bags? Are you serious? We've got boatloads over here.

  3. I'm salivating over the idea of you coming over and cleaning my house, while simultaneously feeling guilty about wanting it so bad.

    Kath brought me a shit ton of plastic bags and chocolate chip cookies. She's definitely carrying the load for people who can't quite reach me. She also brought Bobby who was soft and loveable and silly and rubbed up against me.