Wishing a Week Away

Since falling almost 2 weeks ago and the trip to the ER as prelude to the knee surgery, life has been vague. The unbelievable pain in my left back/hip area has, surprisingly, usurped the after-surgery pain in my right knee. I have been using the ice machine on my right knee, but have wiggled, flexed, waggled, stretched, and tried every imaginable position to accommodate a really painful left side, as well as the post-surgery right side, to no avail.

Pain pills and I do not have a copecetic relationship: they upset my stomach, cause my head to swim, and totally surpress my appetite, so I try not to take them unless I need to sleep. My theory is that I need my body's pain to guage what to do and what to avoid. If I don't feel pain, I'll overdo and cause myself pain I don't want or need. At night, however, I don't hesitate to take 2 pills as prescribed to avoid the thrashing around that comes when I'm really asleep, but trying to find a space and/or position in bed that pretends to be somewhat comfortable without inconveniencing Daisy, who has her certain spots staked out, usually in the middle of the mattress.

Last night, having stayed up until 8 pm, I gulped my pills, made my little nest, and fell promptly asleep. Two gunshots awoke me later, sounding like first, a 22 calibre, and then a 38. No screams followed; no sirens; no sounding of the alarm. I fell back asleep. Suddenly, a scream pierced the darkness, the kind of scream that sent the dogs thundering out the doggie door to the front of the property. They barked their loudest barks, followed by sirens converging nearby. This morning, the news says that a few blocks east, on the main road, a transient crossing in the middle of the block was hit by a car driven by a police officer responding to a call. Perhaps the sounds I heard connect: the gunshots a block to the west (actually a common sound from the party house) being responded to by a police officer responding to "shots fired" could have collided in the middle of a darkened street.

I was asleep, so have no idea if there is a cause/effect relationship or just sounds in the night.

My 'fridge is still bulging with food from my dotter's time here, providing care to her ailing, elderly mudder. It is such a treat to have food appear when it's time for food, without having to engage in the planning, purchasing, or preparation phases of the process. She left me with veggies and fruit, but I'm disappointed that the apples appear to be off-season imports: small, rock hard, and tasteless. My favorites, Rome Beauty, are no longer an option, and the slim winter pickings are best flavored with seasonings and cooked until tender. If I'm going to go to all that work, however, I'd just as soon include a pie crust and a scoop of Kool Whip!!

I've either watched or deleted most of the holiday movies I dvr'd during the lead-up to the surgery. I'm reading my doorstop book, the latest Cornwell, but her writing is not as engaging, well-paced, and/or interesting as it was back in the day. Now, when I read a Cornwell, I think "belaboring the point, again," rather than "I can't wait to make time to read this book!"

(Birdwalk: Making a book longer does not make it better, and far too long is a handy tool for disguising mediocre writing: the reader turns pages without reading them, rather than wading through all 496 pages by what is considered in the media as one of our top writers. Readers may not know good writing, but they recognize when the plot bogs down, when the characters spend far too much time either in conversation with other characters or internal monolog, and/or when the conflict seems contrived. James Patterson is another victim of his own media popularity, and his writing is suffering from his goal to churn out as many commercial products as he can, rather than publishing novels a reader can anticipate and savor. When he shared the computer keys with Andrew Gross, Patterson's writing was at its best; since then, however, the quality of both the story and the writing has declined.)

Today, I'm going to update my checkbook, file receipts and paid bills, decide which of the many half-finished craft projects are still viable, take several catnaps, savor a shower and clean clothes, then decide if I'm up to scoopin' poop, which has been piling up for 2 full weeks. When the dogs use the dog run, I can't see the fruits of their labors, but the weather has encouraged them to make their deposits in the people yard, creating an environmental hazard. I can walk on flat surfaces, but I'm not sure if I can bend enough to get the poop out of the landscaping rocks and into a disposal bag. If I can do it, I'm going to do it, but if it's still not an option, I'll wait another few days. We're supposed to have another round of rain later today, so if I don't get the poop picked up today, it'll have to wait until the weekend.

Believe me, I've learned the hard way that if I don't pick up the poop, there are no yard fairies who come in and do it for me!