So here I am,In Bed, propped up on 25 million pillows, wearing a stolen "Johnny Shirt" (that does nothing for my self esteem) and smelling of stale baby powder. Beside my bed sits a glass of water, a dangerously large bottle of delotted and a bell. Yes, a Bell. I am recovering from major ankle/foot surgery. A so called "Tripple Anthrodesis" with a Tendon Transfer and a Heel Re-Alignment on the backside (not really on the backside) I have been sentenced to bed for seemingly the rest of my 29th year.
Who ever said "You can never go home again" is full of shit.
I have moved back in with my wonderful parents for the next three months. My Saint of a Mother (who answers to the bell) has taken on the role of full time Nurse. It's the whole meal deal up in here: Sponge baths, drug administration, hand holding, story reading: The daily paper, as my knowledge on current events, is a "complete disgrace." (according to my Father) Not to mention meals in bed and more pity presents than you can imagine.
Did I mention my cast is/was hot pink with silver glitter accents? I have since moved on to the ever so stylish "moon boot" (due to a bit of a heel misfortune) that will soon be Be-Dazzled. My mind is gone.
The last shred of my dignity was flushed down the toilet last week to probably never return. Lets just say mass amounts of narcotics laugh in the face of fiber. Metamucil's, Ex-Lax, Some Indian remedy, Bran Buds, an unmentionable in the unmentionable... all with no effect. I was going on day eleven. This may or may not of been announced at the Farmers Market (Did I mention my parents live in the middle of no where?) I suppose if you don't know me this may not seem like THAT long, but, my appetite is anything but delicate. (I'll eat you under the table fat boy) baffling really, I mean, ELEVEN DAYS and I am merely five feet tall. (Where is it all going?!!) So anyway, finally a miracle occurred. I sweat through mentioned Johnny Shirt and screamed obscenities for approximately two hours - that are never to be mentioned again. Thank fuck I was hopped up on 8mg's of D otherwise I surely would have fallen off the throne and died. When finished, my sympathetic Mother helped me back to bed and even wiped my sweaty brow with a cold face cloth (seriously) Well, for most that would be enough. Not me. I was lying in bed, still cursing under my breath, and heard what I thought was the water still running in the sink. Nope. It was the toilet. Yup Kids, it overflowed and went all over the floor. My Father actually stepped in the "water" on the way to assess the situation. All I heard was "Cripes Kate!!" Instead of shutting up in the name of shame I laughed. Hysterically. I could barely believe my own ears because it sounded like what might be a crazy killer clown. We haven't spoken of this since.
So, I suppose to say this has been a humbling experience to the very least. Nothing is sacred. Not the tattoo (that's another story that I do not care to elaborate on) The belly ring that they wanted to cut off in the operating room was salvaged to my mothers dismay (only floozies decorate their navel Haley!) No I am not 15, I am 29 going on what seems to be 12.
I don't want to sound unappreciative, My parents are amazing. Both Supportive to a fault but is it just me or is it weird when your Father offers to paint your toe nails? I know he felt bad after the exploding shit incident and I think he thought it might make me laugh. I'm not sure, but either way I took it as a sign that they think I am losing it.
I think that's all I got (yes got) Is this what people blog about? shit, glitter and toe nail polish? Probably not. Normal people most likely write about politics, movies or the economy. Plus they probably have grammer, spelling and writing skills. Ahhh I am tired of Facebook, I am too unmotivated to learn a language or take a worth while online course and so I'll ramble on in hopes of staying away from day time TV and romance novels.
Maybe I'll get addicted to the Delotted and this will get really interesting. Dignity truly is over rated.