Okay, I’ve moaned on enough about my pain level and my battle with Sciatica, so I’ll change the subject. That is until I get all “Saw” and literally sever my left leg on my own with some rusty farm tool. Maybe I’ll put it on YouTube!
Gross. See? Painkillers make me dumb. Dumber, anyway.
WAS THAT OUTLOUD?
So, I’ve mentioned that Johnny and I just up and moved into the big city about a month ago, didn’t I? Well, we did. I love this house. In fact, saying I love this house is akin to saying a drowning man would “love” a life preserver. I covet this house and it’s location. Mind you, it’s not a mansion, in fact, it’s much smaller than our farmhouse. But get this, I was able to pop out to a gourmet market this afternoon for some turkey meatloaf and fresh pumpkin bread at 3:40 and I was back in time for my afternoon cocktail with Oprah at 4pm. Oh, hell to the yes.
People actually drive down our street on purpose because it’s so pretty. I’m not even kidding. It’s got lots of light and bathrooms that actually work and a nice airy kitchen with new appliances! We have roses and may apples in our backyard. Mr. Cooper has his very own doggy door! In short, it’s our dream house and it feels like our home. Not Johnny’s home that I tried to help clean up. OUR home. Our place for our family. Bliss!
I digress. The other day I was out front picking a big Magnolia flower off of the tree in our front yard. Yep, a big old beautiful Magnolia. I looked over and saw a lady walking a rather large Gold Retriever.
Lady with dog: Hello! Welcome to the neighborhood!
Me: Hi there! Thank you!
Lady with dog: Are you loving the house?
Me: You bet! And the neighborhood!
Lady with dog: So…you’re renting, right?
I’m going to assume that I look so incredibly young that she thought that there was no plausible way that we could afford an actual real mortgage, being teenagers and all.
The Clampett’s come to Beverly Hills! Just wait until Christmas when Johnny puts his collection of blow up snowmen and penguins in our front yard. Wail until I put up my “Celebrate Kwanzaa” flag!
OKAY, I TOTALLY LIED
I said I wasn’t going to talk about Sciatica, but I am. For lack of a better or more politically correct word, this whole thing is getting retarded. I mean really. I went to my acupuncturist again this afternoon. He put nine needles in my arms and feet and then “bled” me again. I have no idea how much blood came out of me but he asked me for a paper towel FOUR times. He also said my blood was near black, which meant there was serious stagnation going on. I was somewhat relieved that it wasn’t a cheery light pink having been diluted nightly by vodka. Good news!
I’ll admit, I was somewhat snarky with him as well. I’m not really experiencing much more relief with him than I was with the slick and shiny chiropractors. I’m not improving much at all, it would seem. He nodded in understanding and even tried to sympathize by saying that he knew my pain was terrible and although I’m not the worst case he’s ever seen, my case is indeed, “wicked”. “It just takes time”, he said. “This is just your thing to deal with right now, and it sucks”. Well, thanks, pal!
Guess what? I GET THAT. Then he says, “who knows, maybe this is a lesson in patience “?
Oh for fuck’s sake. A lesson in patience? A lesson in patience is a visit to the DMV, dude. Not 8 weeks of crippling pain shooting continuously down your leg. A lesson in patience is getting behind a dumbass check writer at the grocery store in the age of the ATM. It is not crying out every 4 hours during the night for pain pills and muscle relaxers. No sir. A lesson in patience is taking these stupid herbal pills that you’ve given me that do NOTHING but make me poop, and that’s the one area of my life where I have no trouble whatsoever. Jesus.
I dunno. I’m at the point of not really caring anymore. The last thing he said to me this afternoon was “remember, it’s ONE day at a time”. Well, great. Just like the drunks! I just have to get through this on my own.
I know, I know. This too shall pass, right? I’ve become so used to being uncomfortable and in constant pain that I’m not sure what I’ll do when this thing finally does go away. That’s the thing, really. Despite exercises, diet and chiropractors and acupuncturists, it still hurts. Despite herbs and pain pills and prayers, this thing is always with me. Always.
So, I get to share it with you! Lucky folks! Anyway, thanks for all the encouragement and all the suggestions. I’ll beat this thing one day. Hopefully, sometime this year.
A DEPARTING THOUGHT
I saw two bumper stickers today and I’m not sure which one pissed me off more.
BS#1: “How’s that hope and change working out for you”?
BS#2: “If you are going to ride my ass, at least pull my hair”!
I reacted like any other sane, mature adult. I smeared a booger on their respective windshields.