Revision surgery went really well, I was even functional enough to walk myself to the car and give my friend directions back home!
The support patch he added needs drainage tho, which original surgery and the first revision surgery didn’t, and it’s so awkward! If I move wrong it feels like getting stabbed in my armpit 😦 it’s only for one day though, so that’s not so bad.
And I’m so much more alert than previous times!
& I have Lebanese leftovers, (including a ton of baba ghanouj and rice pudding! Yum!), Manny, Mavis, and s4 of arrested development. This will be over soon!
My friend who took me says as soon as it kicked in I started giggling and talking about how weird surgery and anaesthesia both are. Which is true! Anaesthesia is so weird. It’s weird to wake up missing two hours of your life with your body suddenly different.
Inspired by Sarah Rees Brennan and the Rejectionist, and courtesy of the brain fog brought on by my latest sinus infection (I’m beginning to think either my apartment has toxic mold or my sinus health is inversely proportionate to my stress level, that is, as my stress level goes up my capacity to breathe and ultimately to function goes down and bam here I am again with my mucinex and my giant mountain of tissues, definitely someone you want to get a lapdance from), My Work Process:
Put the new Santigold on again and blow my nose a bunch.
Daydream about steak. Wonder if it’s time to start eating red meat again. Compromise with eggs.
Debate driving to school where computers are faster, but in public, or patiently wrangling with my old laptop, which shuts down if I run more than one program at a time (still haven’t taken my macbok air in to get fixed. Really kicking myself over that one). Decide on laptop, for now.
Check work schedule. Same as always. Working with Regan, yes! Bibi still not back. Remind myself to start requesting Saturday nights, except not this Saturday because I have ballet tickets.
Facebook: still boring. Interesting books reviewed on the Rejectionist.
Remind myself that I can’t buy any new books until I finish the last two papers of the term, one of which (ahem, ahem) is due tomorrow along with a presentation for My Darling Professor who thinks I need to stop biting my nails. (The last presentation went better–nothing in my mouth!– but was still imperfect.)
Fantasize about not being in school, and how perfect Regan’s life must be. We sat in back swapping pictures on our phones Friday night: hers were of fun times, minigolf, and photobooths, mine were of my dog.
“Drop out of school, get a boob job, and be a trophy wife,” was her advice.
“My student loans are twice as much as a boob job!” I answered.
“Yeah, but with a boob job you’d probably recoup twice as fast.”
Go back to outlining paper due tomorrow. Wonder idly how I’m going to fit revisions in with my busy procrastination schedule.
Suddenly feel the pseudoephedrine in my nasal spray hit my brain. Also, I can breathe! Time to go work at the computer lab.
Starting next month when I only have one online Art History class (art credit bizarrely mandatory for graduation, I guess to make me a well-rounded individual? Please. My life is my art) I’m going to live the lazy and luxurious lifestyle I’m always hearing my coworkers talk about. Sleeping in, reading whatever nerdy fantasy I want, working four nights a week, and rapidly checking my debts off as I pay them, all Regan-style? I can’t wait.
It will look like this, all the time.