I'm back doing it. I'm back on Spark. Not with the full rushing headlong motivation I had when I joined in 2009. With a bit of trepidation and curiosity. My sugar has been out of control. There, I wrote it.
This time around, my mentality isn't hardcore weight loss, not like last time. I really need to get my sugar in check. I tracked, with 100% honesty, everything I ate and drank today, and I checked in well under my calorie and carb goal. It was surprising and quite satisfying, to say the least. I let the program determine what might be good for me, this time, rather than setting harsh unrealistic unmaintainable goals. That's what was going on last time. I found it easy to eat 1200 calories a day, at the outset, and I felt very proud of myself, that fat, "overzealous" Lisa, can eat the bare minimum and be satisfied. It was fine till I started exercising vigorously five days a week. Then I became starving, anxious, and I was really fucking up my metabolism. Naturally, I crashed and burned. Well, it was slow. First it was "bah, we're going on vacation, let's not bother tracking." Then, it was "well, between bronchitis and the holidays, no way we're getting to that gym". Then, "it IS Christmas, after all, sure, I'll have another drink."
Then we started hanging around the bar. Four, five, six beers in a night. A cheeseburger. Chips. Lots of chips. That's when the real crashing happened. Then, comes barbecue season, and beer...and well, it's been a hell of a year. I lost 66 pounds in six months, and gained back forty of them over the year of 2010. I know I've been gaining. I still step on the scale. I watch that needle slide further over. It was my year of excess, and here I am with all this collateral damage on my body. My legs feel nervy and weird all the time. My feet itch at night. My skin looks thin and unhealthy, and my muscles aren't toned, like they were.
Luiz reminds me of the supernal Love. To Love my body. It means more than looking in the mirror and being self critical, and more than just loving how I look in certain jeans. It means loving it like I love anything, and caring for it, like I care for anything.
I think this is the right time.
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 13, 2011
Feeling very "fuck it"
"Overzealous eating" That's what I came out of that doctor's appointment with. He asked if I had a problem with overzealous eating. I look around me at the stuff other people consume, and I can comfortably say no, not at all.
I lost 66 pounds, and it felt good for awhile. It was the result of very strict crash dieting. It was not a lifestyle I could at all maintain. I tried to walk the middle ground for awhile, but for someone my size, there is no middle ground. There's either "1200 calories a day, tracking every morsel of food that passes my lips, and obsessive exercising" or "fuck it". Trying to maintain the portion control without logging every bit of food while still exercising...I started gaining weight. That was discouraging. It felt very black and white, to me. Nothing short of extremely drastic dieting would keep that weight off. One by one, bad habits popped back up. We started drinking more again. Then, some of the "NO!" foods eventually worked their way back in. Then the exercising tapered off. It's absolutely unrealistic to try and maintain a 1200 calorie diet for life, and that's the only way for me to lose the weight.
Today's discussion with the doc was discouraging, to say the least. He's thin, he's always been thin. He says I have no choice, I have to lose 150 pounds, or else I'll find myself on a battery of meds. He has no idea, no empathy. I mean, I tell him the truth. I still eat properly. Small portions, very little meat, tons of veggies, lean proteins, legumes. Not a load of junk food. I avoid unhealthy snacks and fast food, I eat half portions in restaurants, I try to curb the sweet tooth. I deny myself a lot of comfort foods, to avoid gaining weight. I get nowhere. I left the doctor day, after having blood taken, with a grand "fuck it" attitude. Why suffer? Nothing I can do seems to be helping. Nothing good came of today. Nothing helpful. No new information, no encouragement, no direction, no motivation. I don't expect that sort of thing from my doctor, but usually after a weight discussion, I find it in myself. Hell, that's WHY I eat the way I mentioned. Every time is some new resolve, like "ok, let me start by cutting my portions in half". Ever evolving, except for today. Dead stop.
I stopped at McDonald's on the way home, for breakfast. I haven't had a sausage biscuit for breakfast in about 4 years. It didn't taste that good, and it didn't make me feel better. I thought, maybe it would make me feel bad and gross enough that I'd feel guilty. I don't. Or maybe it would be so delicious, it would at least have some aesthetic value. It wasn't delicious.
Apr 5, 2011
It's something, at least.
Yesterday was the piercing day, and it was a very good day. Like last weekend, I spent this part weekend making other people happy and sacrificing my time and energy. Sometimes, it was for the great, helping Jake and Janae move in was a good experience and I know it wasn't a waste. All the drama between Devil and Stooge, and their unrequited obsession. All we set out to do was go to the bar and unwind after a long day, moving J+J, and instead, I spent the evening in the middle of high drama appeasing, and trying to comfort and do damage control. That's all I'm going to even say about that. That kind of bullshit doesn't deserve to get repeated or mulled over.
Sunday, the plan was to go grocery shopping, then spend the rest of the day relaxing. I'd planned on finishing a video game, and giving myself a pedicure. None of that happened either. Well, the shopping did, of course, because that was for other people.
Monday, though, that was all for me. Michele and I hit Bobby's Burger Palace, then went on to Southside, to see Mike for the first time in over five years. Walking in was strange. We were on good terms, I'd been there a few times after Michele quit, and we were cool. She hadn't been there since The Break Up, when she took off for Fat Cat. Mike looked at me, and greeted me with a smile. A blank smile, one that says "I know you, and I think I like you, but who the fuck are you?" Then I said "Hi Mike, I brought a friend in to see you." and then the smile got huge and genuine. It was an awkward few seconds, but everything went really well. We sat and chatted for hours. Mike was once a skinhead, and a very angry dude. Now he's Born Again, and while that normally irritates the hell out of me, I suspect he's in it for the right reasons. He;s let go of the hate, and has a real loving and harmonious kinda vibe about him. The new Zen Mike, that's got a fire in his belly for Christ. It's cool. Talking to him at length about his reptiles, piercings, people in general, ideas, the big questions, the big answers has always been a pleasure, but somehow even more, yesterday. I got my earlobes stretched to a 2, a monroe, and my nose rings put in place. I plan on seeing him more often now, for sure. The ears are going up to a 00, both my conchs are going to be pierced with a 10 ring, I plan on adding at least two more to my already double pierced eyebrow, and then probably I'll be getting some microdermal implants around my cheekbone. I'm very happy to be in contact with Mike again, for an assortment of reasons.
I think the piercings and the Wii, and the desire to get things for myself is something of a backlash towards all the energy and time I've been giving to others. Like, I seldom have a moment to myself, and when I do spend time alone, like now, I get something of a guilt trip over it, "You didn't wake me up! I miss you!". I think spending money on myself is sort of filling in for that right now, and I get less shit for it. Not *no* shit, by a long shot, but less guilty feelings.
Sunday, the plan was to go grocery shopping, then spend the rest of the day relaxing. I'd planned on finishing a video game, and giving myself a pedicure. None of that happened either. Well, the shopping did, of course, because that was for other people.
Monday, though, that was all for me. Michele and I hit Bobby's Burger Palace, then went on to Southside, to see Mike for the first time in over five years. Walking in was strange. We were on good terms, I'd been there a few times after Michele quit, and we were cool. She hadn't been there since The Break Up, when she took off for Fat Cat. Mike looked at me, and greeted me with a smile. A blank smile, one that says "I know you, and I think I like you, but who the fuck are you?" Then I said "Hi Mike, I brought a friend in to see you." and then the smile got huge and genuine. It was an awkward few seconds, but everything went really well. We sat and chatted for hours. Mike was once a skinhead, and a very angry dude. Now he's Born Again, and while that normally irritates the hell out of me, I suspect he's in it for the right reasons. He;s let go of the hate, and has a real loving and harmonious kinda vibe about him. The new Zen Mike, that's got a fire in his belly for Christ. It's cool. Talking to him at length about his reptiles, piercings, people in general, ideas, the big questions, the big answers has always been a pleasure, but somehow even more, yesterday. I got my earlobes stretched to a 2, a monroe, and my nose rings put in place. I plan on seeing him more often now, for sure. The ears are going up to a 00, both my conchs are going to be pierced with a 10 ring, I plan on adding at least two more to my already double pierced eyebrow, and then probably I'll be getting some microdermal implants around my cheekbone. I'm very happy to be in contact with Mike again, for an assortment of reasons.
I think the piercings and the Wii, and the desire to get things for myself is something of a backlash towards all the energy and time I've been giving to others. Like, I seldom have a moment to myself, and when I do spend time alone, like now, I get something of a guilt trip over it, "You didn't wake me up! I miss you!". I think spending money on myself is sort of filling in for that right now, and I get less shit for it. Not *no* shit, by a long shot, but less guilty feelings.
Mar 29, 2011
Great Monday
Today was exhilerating. Not like soap and tampon commercial exhilerating, but really really soul renewing. Back to work for the first time in a week, then home to to some writing here, then wild mad crazy quickie sex, then out for a lovely day with Michele. It started with plans for a hurried lunch because she was so busy, but she wound up moving her day around, and I joined her when she visited her mom and her nephews.
That's right, I spent a large chunk of my day with BABIES. Sweet, adorable, pleasant, mellow children. Michele's sister Lisa's kiddos. We walked them around her whole development, to get them napping, and it was so nice. Holding the smaller one, he's about six months old, was such a flashback to Alden. It *almost* got me thinking I wanted another one. Almost. As predicted, that feeling wore off about a half hour after I got home. It was still a really great day, with Michele, the babies, her mom, lunch, fresh air, all that.
We made plans for next week, to go visit Mike the Piercer down at Southside, and I'm excited like a kid anticipating Christmas. Getting pierced is such a rush. I just tried to describe it to Luiz, like it's a good therapy session, massage, and orgasm, all at once. It doesn't feel like those things, but when it's over, that's what I feel left with. Calm, renewed, clear headed, reset. I go for the sensation, and have jewelery as a keepsake. I'm making a list! I want my ears stretched more, both my conchs pierced, my nose rings back in place, maybe seamless rings, and one more facial piercing. I'm thinking of a monroe, which is that beauty mark piercing, or a medusa which is a post directly over the cupid's bow. Also plan on looking into microsubdermal implants, for my cheekbone. I know it's not for all one sitting, but now that there's a promise of going back to Mike, I'm all excited again. I haven't seen him in over five years and I am LONG overdue.
That's right, I spent a large chunk of my day with BABIES. Sweet, adorable, pleasant, mellow children. Michele's sister Lisa's kiddos. We walked them around her whole development, to get them napping, and it was so nice. Holding the smaller one, he's about six months old, was such a flashback to Alden. It *almost* got me thinking I wanted another one. Almost. As predicted, that feeling wore off about a half hour after I got home. It was still a really great day, with Michele, the babies, her mom, lunch, fresh air, all that.
We made plans for next week, to go visit Mike the Piercer down at Southside, and I'm excited like a kid anticipating Christmas. Getting pierced is such a rush. I just tried to describe it to Luiz, like it's a good therapy session, massage, and orgasm, all at once. It doesn't feel like those things, but when it's over, that's what I feel left with. Calm, renewed, clear headed, reset. I go for the sensation, and have jewelery as a keepsake. I'm making a list! I want my ears stretched more, both my conchs pierced, my nose rings back in place, maybe seamless rings, and one more facial piercing. I'm thinking of a monroe, which is that beauty mark piercing, or a medusa which is a post directly over the cupid's bow. Also plan on looking into microsubdermal implants, for my cheekbone. I know it's not for all one sitting, but now that there's a promise of going back to Mike, I'm all excited again. I haven't seen him in over five years and I am LONG overdue.
Mar 28, 2011
What are YOU doing in my dream?
I had a weird fragmented dream. I was visiting Guam, only for whatever reason, in my dream Guam was a big campsite field with all kinds of people living like refugees or hippies or squatters in general genial chaos. Lots of old friends, living in tents with new families, sunshine, grass, and clothes everywhere. The dream shifted to an apartment or hotel room, where I was rooming with someone. In my dream, we were best friends, or maybe more, and I knew her intimately. She was taller than me, and very thin, almost androgynous, although I knew she was female. She had a dark complexion and almond eyes like natives of Guam, maybe a bit more Asian, but her skin was the coppery tan of Polynesia. She had long straight hair, but it was sort of cut to look shaggy and raggedy on purpose. I was under the impression that we were getting ready for bed, so I was naked and totally unselfconscious, puttering around the room. I recall dimming the lights, and closing the blinds, and preparing to sleep in my bed. Even though I was nude, there were no sexual feelings, and we were sleeping in separate beds. She suggested that I get dressed, because we had plans, that I'd probably forgotten about.
I quickly threw on clothes, and moments later, our hotel room filled with people. People that in my dream, I vaguely knew, no faces, just a press of humanity, noise, the hum of conversation, music. At some point, I was trying to find something in my backpack. It was my enormous LL Bean backpack that I had in my late teens. And something was lost, something I wanted to eat, like beef jerky, or some source of protein was in there, and I couldn't find it. I was getting paranoid and uncomfortable, akin to that feeling of searching for your wallet at the checkout line, and finding it missing. People were noticing me, but not gathering around, but I knew these people were looking at me. Then I looked up, and saw Dan standing over me, Dr. 80's Dan. He looked exactly like he does now, a little heavier, short hair. He was holding a drink and looking mildly amused. He was the only crystal clear face in my whole dream, and at that moment, I thought "this is a dream, I can't find this thing, and I have no idea why he is here." So, I asked him. There was some conversation, and I said something like "isn't fifteen years enough time to get over our bullshit?" He was the only clear voice, too. He helped me find the thing, calming me down and helping me sort through each section of my giant bag. The girl in the room with me initially was off mingling and conducting this party. There was a bar in the room, and she was behind it, serving drinks. Everyone seemed cool and witty and urbane. Dan was hanging out with me on the opposite side of the room, and he felt like the only person that really understood me in this room of "beautiful" people. I was glad to see him, and I distinctly remember saying goodbye to him, before waking up.
I quickly threw on clothes, and moments later, our hotel room filled with people. People that in my dream, I vaguely knew, no faces, just a press of humanity, noise, the hum of conversation, music. At some point, I was trying to find something in my backpack. It was my enormous LL Bean backpack that I had in my late teens. And something was lost, something I wanted to eat, like beef jerky, or some source of protein was in there, and I couldn't find it. I was getting paranoid and uncomfortable, akin to that feeling of searching for your wallet at the checkout line, and finding it missing. People were noticing me, but not gathering around, but I knew these people were looking at me. Then I looked up, and saw Dan standing over me, Dr. 80's Dan. He looked exactly like he does now, a little heavier, short hair. He was holding a drink and looking mildly amused. He was the only crystal clear face in my whole dream, and at that moment, I thought "this is a dream, I can't find this thing, and I have no idea why he is here." So, I asked him. There was some conversation, and I said something like "isn't fifteen years enough time to get over our bullshit?" He was the only clear voice, too. He helped me find the thing, calming me down and helping me sort through each section of my giant bag. The girl in the room with me initially was off mingling and conducting this party. There was a bar in the room, and she was behind it, serving drinks. Everyone seemed cool and witty and urbane. Dan was hanging out with me on the opposite side of the room, and he felt like the only person that really understood me in this room of "beautiful" people. I was glad to see him, and I distinctly remember saying goodbye to him, before waking up.
Everyone's Rock
I wasn't sure whether to put this here or in Spinning, so in here it goes. I seem to bitch a lot here (well, on all of my blogs, really, even the seemingly innocent gaming blog.) so, I feel like this could be more positive.
Saturday, Gina came over, and we went out to lunch. She likes talking, and I like listening to her, and we often talk about things that are beyond the mundane. Every time we spend a great deal of time together, I feel like there's a grand exchange of ideas, and I always come away with some new knowledge, or insights. I wish I could help her sort out her life, a little better. I think that listening, and going out for ice cream, and keeping things away from intense relationship talk, or freaking out about her situation, or shit talking her almost ex boyfriend, is important. She probably gets that from other friends, and it's not really my place. She probably thinks about that stuff enough, and it's nice just to detach and talk about how pretty that honey calcite stone is, or how gamma waves launch us into some otherspace. Spending upwards of 14 hours together seems like it could be exhausting, but it actually wasn't. It was pleasant.
Then, yesterday, after spending the day with my mom and Earl, taking them out for a belated birthday dinner, I got into sweats and planned on vegging the rest of my meager Sunday. Then Steve came over. I really genuinely like Steve. Even though we disagree on just about everything, superficially, I feel like he has a good heart, he's smart, funny, and really deserves a break. He hung out here for about four hours, and unburdened his heart. He kept asking if that was ok, if he was bugging me, apologizing for taking my time. I wouldn't agree to it if I didn't want to. At one point, he looked at me and said "you're everybody's rock, aren't you."
I don't know that I'm *that* but for whatever reason, people seek me out and talk to me. I don't offer unsolicited advice, or any at all, sometimes. I listen. I listen and empathize. Sometimes, I bring out the cards, and help them gain insight. I think merely listening is a rare thing. I feel happy, like it's a good thing for me, and for my friends that I can offer myself. It's part of my True Will. Irv looks at me askance, and sighs, when I'm on the phone for two hours listening to a friend's woes. I never trivialize them, nothing shocks me, and I don't judge, and I don't blab. Somehow, I get that my True Will has something to do with helping one or more people to greatness. I feel blessed, totally absolutely blessed in my life, and if I can help people find insight and realize that they're blessed too, or help them see through the veils of bullshit to understand more about existence, life, love, co-existence, intimacy, whatever, then it's only right that I do. Not try, I don't TRY to help, or insinuate myself, or offer, but I'll never turn down a friend, no matter what hour or reason.
Not everyone, either. Some people will talk forever and I sense that it's some sort of mental masturbation, and that I am a non-entity. Some people are acting out this tremendous Drama Of Life, like some low rent reality show, and I'm merely an audience member. That my essential Lisa-ness is not a part of their interaction with me. I seek to close down those situations, fast. That sets up unhealthy expectations. There have been people in my life, like that, and it took a while to cut them away, people that have swallowed up my whole identity, and personality, and I may as well have been a stuffed doll. Harriet (guest star of Epiphany for years) was one of those types. I'm really glad that there's no one around like that, now. Being "everyone's rock" is my way of giving back to the people that I love, and to the Universe, but there's a danger in being "everyone's doormat" too.
Today, after devoting an entire weekend to others, I'm taking this day for myself. People have expectations of me, today. Errands, chores, social duties, and I'll get to them as I see fit. Today, I'm listening to music I love, reading and writing, and being selfishly indulgent with my time. It's the balance.
Saturday, Gina came over, and we went out to lunch. She likes talking, and I like listening to her, and we often talk about things that are beyond the mundane. Every time we spend a great deal of time together, I feel like there's a grand exchange of ideas, and I always come away with some new knowledge, or insights. I wish I could help her sort out her life, a little better. I think that listening, and going out for ice cream, and keeping things away from intense relationship talk, or freaking out about her situation, or shit talking her almost ex boyfriend, is important. She probably gets that from other friends, and it's not really my place. She probably thinks about that stuff enough, and it's nice just to detach and talk about how pretty that honey calcite stone is, or how gamma waves launch us into some otherspace. Spending upwards of 14 hours together seems like it could be exhausting, but it actually wasn't. It was pleasant.
Then, yesterday, after spending the day with my mom and Earl, taking them out for a belated birthday dinner, I got into sweats and planned on vegging the rest of my meager Sunday. Then Steve came over. I really genuinely like Steve. Even though we disagree on just about everything, superficially, I feel like he has a good heart, he's smart, funny, and really deserves a break. He hung out here for about four hours, and unburdened his heart. He kept asking if that was ok, if he was bugging me, apologizing for taking my time. I wouldn't agree to it if I didn't want to. At one point, he looked at me and said "you're everybody's rock, aren't you."
I don't know that I'm *that* but for whatever reason, people seek me out and talk to me. I don't offer unsolicited advice, or any at all, sometimes. I listen. I listen and empathize. Sometimes, I bring out the cards, and help them gain insight. I think merely listening is a rare thing. I feel happy, like it's a good thing for me, and for my friends that I can offer myself. It's part of my True Will. Irv looks at me askance, and sighs, when I'm on the phone for two hours listening to a friend's woes. I never trivialize them, nothing shocks me, and I don't judge, and I don't blab. Somehow, I get that my True Will has something to do with helping one or more people to greatness. I feel blessed, totally absolutely blessed in my life, and if I can help people find insight and realize that they're blessed too, or help them see through the veils of bullshit to understand more about existence, life, love, co-existence, intimacy, whatever, then it's only right that I do. Not try, I don't TRY to help, or insinuate myself, or offer, but I'll never turn down a friend, no matter what hour or reason.
Not everyone, either. Some people will talk forever and I sense that it's some sort of mental masturbation, and that I am a non-entity. Some people are acting out this tremendous Drama Of Life, like some low rent reality show, and I'm merely an audience member. That my essential Lisa-ness is not a part of their interaction with me. I seek to close down those situations, fast. That sets up unhealthy expectations. There have been people in my life, like that, and it took a while to cut them away, people that have swallowed up my whole identity, and personality, and I may as well have been a stuffed doll. Harriet (guest star of Epiphany for years) was one of those types. I'm really glad that there's no one around like that, now. Being "everyone's rock" is my way of giving back to the people that I love, and to the Universe, but there's a danger in being "everyone's doormat" too.
Today, after devoting an entire weekend to others, I'm taking this day for myself. People have expectations of me, today. Errands, chores, social duties, and I'll get to them as I see fit. Today, I'm listening to music I love, reading and writing, and being selfishly indulgent with my time. It's the balance.
Mar 7, 2011
Arms...shoulders...I'm grumpy.
So, Saturday, Irv was working overtime and fell off the back of a truck. He landed on his left arm and twisted it pretty bad, so they took him to the ER. He didn't break anything, and they weren't sure if he strained or tore any ligaments. Saturday he was in pain, but not immobile. We went out to dinner on Saturday night with awesome friends, and had a nice night. He slept well, and had a full day yesterday, including going out grocery shopping and puttering around the house. He has his arm in a sling sometimes, but I've been watching, and it seems like he has a full range of motion, with it being stiff and a little painful when he twists his wrist, and extends his elbow fully down. So, yeah, he hurt himself, but I'm starting to think he's fine, and that he strained it, or sprained his wrist. This morning, I caught him using the arm for leverage getting out of bed, and later reaching out and scratching the cat between the ears.
Today, I had to drive him all over the county to sign workman's comp papers, visit the guys at the job, bring them coffee, pick up his x rays from the hospital way out in Freehold. Soon, we'll be going off to a doctor's appointment. All morning, he's been talking about his arm, how he can start eating with it, and how he can wipe his butt with it, and how it hurts to do this-but-not-this and how he's beginning to get his range of motion back.
I'll drive him anywhere, and take care of anything he needs, and listen to everything, and I won't complain, except here. I'll admit. I'm a bit bitter. I feel like this weird little feeling that picks at the back of my brain when I'm feeling down is coming true. I feel like, sometimes, if I injure myself...whatever. But he did, and we have people calling and stopping by every damn day, and he's a hero for falling off a truck.
The point is, I tore my rotator cuff, narrowly missing a collision with an elderly driver, two years ago. I really fucked myself up, but I thought, at the time, "well, it wasn't a real accident, and I can live with the pain, I'll just baby it, and get through shit." And, I did. But, throughout the next 6 months, I re-injured it three more times, working out, doing day to day shit, hauling a milk jug out of the car, till the pain was unbearable, and I was all but crippled. 3 months of physical therapy, and two doctors said I'd probably need surgery in the future to fix it. If I didn't go when I did, I would have had to get the whole thing replaced. It still hurts, it's twinging and hurting right this minute, as I type. It's ok, and it's not extra damaged right this minute, it's just permanently fucked. They said it would never not hurt. I'm bitter. I didn't take care of myself properly, and no one forced me to go to the doctor, or showed any concern. I drove home from being out that day, when I got the accident, I went out driving the next day. I cooked dinner that night, and went grocery shopping that week, doing everything that one would do with their right arm, in varying levels of agony. I didn't sleep at night, rolling over on it had me waking up in a cold sweat, in tears. I still, two years on, cannot sleep on that side, lift heavy things, or use my arm in certain ways. Irv told me yesterday, that he really didn't get what I meant, when I tried to tell him all these things. His mentality was "you'll be fine, suck it up". He would chuckle at me, when I tried to get something down off a higher shelf, and pull the whole shelf on my head, and cry tears of frustration.
Last year, at the Faith No More show, I fractured my right heel. My heel was jet black and swollen for months. I didn't go to the doctor, because what are they going to do for that? I gulped even more Advil, and lived with it. Everyone in this house knew about it, and everyone saw. The best I got for the heel was an interested "hmm, that really is black, wow." And I drove and walked and took care of everything that needed to be taken care of. Climbing the flight of stairs to go to bed was like climbing Mount Everest, for the first few weeks after. I was really suffering, but what good would it do to complain or go to the doctor or anything? It's fine now, I healed fully from it, but it's a little stiff in the mornings.
I've broken my ankle, and sprained one three times, and the other twice. I've fallen down stairs, and landed on my coccyx, and I've torn ligaments in my left elbow.
Irv falls out of a truck and twists his wrist, and now everyone's exclaiming and cooing over him. It's a little difficult to feel...I don't know...the opposite of bitter, whatever that is, when he's like "look! I can move my fingers!". I want to say, "you were moving your fingers when you got home on Saturday." Because...he was.
The only thing, right now, that I can take from this is, hopefully, from here on out, he'll have a measure of empathy, if I hurt myself.
I think, next time, I'm going to really speak up when I damage myself, although the bitter part of me says that I shouldn't, and the very bitter part of me says that I shouldn't have to.
Today, I had to drive him all over the county to sign workman's comp papers, visit the guys at the job, bring them coffee, pick up his x rays from the hospital way out in Freehold. Soon, we'll be going off to a doctor's appointment. All morning, he's been talking about his arm, how he can start eating with it, and how he can wipe his butt with it, and how it hurts to do this-but-not-this and how he's beginning to get his range of motion back.
I'll drive him anywhere, and take care of anything he needs, and listen to everything, and I won't complain, except here. I'll admit. I'm a bit bitter. I feel like this weird little feeling that picks at the back of my brain when I'm feeling down is coming true. I feel like, sometimes, if I injure myself...whatever. But he did, and we have people calling and stopping by every damn day, and he's a hero for falling off a truck.
The point is, I tore my rotator cuff, narrowly missing a collision with an elderly driver, two years ago. I really fucked myself up, but I thought, at the time, "well, it wasn't a real accident, and I can live with the pain, I'll just baby it, and get through shit." And, I did. But, throughout the next 6 months, I re-injured it three more times, working out, doing day to day shit, hauling a milk jug out of the car, till the pain was unbearable, and I was all but crippled. 3 months of physical therapy, and two doctors said I'd probably need surgery in the future to fix it. If I didn't go when I did, I would have had to get the whole thing replaced. It still hurts, it's twinging and hurting right this minute, as I type. It's ok, and it's not extra damaged right this minute, it's just permanently fucked. They said it would never not hurt. I'm bitter. I didn't take care of myself properly, and no one forced me to go to the doctor, or showed any concern. I drove home from being out that day, when I got the accident, I went out driving the next day. I cooked dinner that night, and went grocery shopping that week, doing everything that one would do with their right arm, in varying levels of agony. I didn't sleep at night, rolling over on it had me waking up in a cold sweat, in tears. I still, two years on, cannot sleep on that side, lift heavy things, or use my arm in certain ways. Irv told me yesterday, that he really didn't get what I meant, when I tried to tell him all these things. His mentality was "you'll be fine, suck it up". He would chuckle at me, when I tried to get something down off a higher shelf, and pull the whole shelf on my head, and cry tears of frustration.
Last year, at the Faith No More show, I fractured my right heel. My heel was jet black and swollen for months. I didn't go to the doctor, because what are they going to do for that? I gulped even more Advil, and lived with it. Everyone in this house knew about it, and everyone saw. The best I got for the heel was an interested "hmm, that really is black, wow." And I drove and walked and took care of everything that needed to be taken care of. Climbing the flight of stairs to go to bed was like climbing Mount Everest, for the first few weeks after. I was really suffering, but what good would it do to complain or go to the doctor or anything? It's fine now, I healed fully from it, but it's a little stiff in the mornings.
I've broken my ankle, and sprained one three times, and the other twice. I've fallen down stairs, and landed on my coccyx, and I've torn ligaments in my left elbow.
Irv falls out of a truck and twists his wrist, and now everyone's exclaiming and cooing over him. It's a little difficult to feel...I don't know...the opposite of bitter, whatever that is, when he's like "look! I can move my fingers!". I want to say, "you were moving your fingers when you got home on Saturday." Because...he was.
The only thing, right now, that I can take from this is, hopefully, from here on out, he'll have a measure of empathy, if I hurt myself.
I think, next time, I'm going to really speak up when I damage myself, although the bitter part of me says that I shouldn't, and the very bitter part of me says that I shouldn't have to.
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