It Better Be Coming Around The Mountain

I'm so crusty and gross. I am going to be crusty and gross until Lord Lortab kicks in and I can stand upright without a hand on my back, grunting and shuffling along, like my ancient neighbor. Once I can stand, I'm taking the longest, most luxurious shower ever had by man or gimp. I'm going to scrub and condition and pumice like there will be someone else in my bed besides me and the dogs tonight. As it is, I feel my sciatica but not my lortab yet. And I still feel how crusty and gross I am. I have been working on restoring my bathroom floor (it dates from the 1880's) and it requires a lot of scraping and dust and particle flinging. Many nose blowings to see how black my boogers may have become in the 10 minutes since I last blew my nose. Many gouges and cuts on my hands. A blister on my left palm that burst and yet keeps oozing. Countless splinters in my poor arse. Glancing down after that last sentence, I saw my fingernails. Add them to the list of things that are not attractive.

When I realized that my pain had taken over my ability to work, yet my pain meds had not yet given me the ability to lie down on anything I value, (this chair is from Goodwill) I decided to visit my poor ol' neglected blog. I keep telling myself that I need to get back on here, yet I feel like I have nothing to talk about. The only things going on in my life are things that are far too mundane and boring to talk about. Then a slide show of past blog posts plays through my mind and I realize I built my reputation on the mundane, inane, and boring. (I wanted another -ane there, but couldn't think of one that would work. Bane? Candy cane?) I have a few things I've been meaning to write about brewing right now. As I think I'm starting to feel the beginnings of pain management, I'm going to have to go and grab a very comfortable, very ugly, very sleep inviting pair of pants and shirt. I have a hot date with a pumice stone and a heating pad tonight. All this excitement on a Thursday too. Just imagine what my weekends must be like and then you will understand why I'm too busy to blog, I have the softest feet this side of the Platte river.

An Ode To Sciatica

Oh, Sciatica, I f*cking hate you. No, my most odious friend, I really f*cking hate you.
You have turned my nights into a sweaty living hell.
Sheets wrapped around my suffering hips, buttocks, and down my thighs.
Heating pad cooking my backside until my turkey timer pops.
Our last few months together have narrowed my existence into a small world of pain.
Walking hunched over like a little old woman, hand tightly gripping my right buttock,
And cursing my inability to find a comfortable way to have my body.
I pace, I lay down, I try to find a way to sit comfortably, but there is no getting past you.
As long as you are in my world, I am unable to focus on anything else.
I notice nothing else when you throb in my butt cheek and down my leg.
You have become my life, and it has been an intense few months, maybe too intense.
No maybe about it, you have ruined my enjoyment in my usual enjoyments, you  greedy wh*re.
You demand all of my attention, keep my from being able to focus on a book,
Only able to watch tv that requires no thought processes, watching the clock,
Waiting for the time that my pain medicines kick in.
Your presence has made me more short tempered and forgetful,
Rendering me even less enjoyable to be around, amazingly.
When you leave me, and you are going to leave me,
Do not bother to ever darken my door again, although that may be just a pipe dream.
I know that our relationship will most likely be an on off cycle of hatred and pain,
Mostly on my end, because I do hate you.
Oh, Sciatica, I f*cking hate you. No, my most odious friend, I really f*cking hate you.