Musings from Gimpville

Lately I find it difficult to get out of bed in the morning.  I mean aside from the physical difficulty associated with not being allowed to bear any weight on my cast-covered right foot, combined with the fact that I am too uncoordinated to use crutches, leaving me pushing myself from bed to bath and back on a wheeled office chair.  It's beyond physical difficulty.  It's more a case of lying there looking at the ceiling and wondering "If I get up, what's in it for me?"

During the week it is the paycheck which my employers have generously agreed to continue to provide while I work from home during these four to eight weeks of imprisonment.  On the weekend it's the love for my dogs, and reluctance to clean up pee and poo that gets me down the steps, on my ass.

Some might call this pity party that makes me want to sleep all day "Cabin Fever". If that's a cutsey term for severe depression brought on by the inability to leave one's home then yeah, I'm pretty sure I have that.  I may have circled back for an extra helping.

Since I had surgery 17 days ago (17 days? Seriously??  It feels like a year!) I've been out of the house four times.  The doctor by taxi, the office with coworkers, the grocery store with a friend and last night to a friend's house to visit.  The most recent outing ended a five-day stretch of home-bound misery and was desperately needed.  We had a very nice visit, good company, good wine and good food.  I was home in six hours, and a half hour after that I was already cursing the walls and stairs and pink fiberglass cast that keep me prisoner here.  Today The Boy was supposed to take me grocery shopping and when he said "I'm in a big hurry, I'll just pick up what you need" I had a little melt-down...because I didn't get to go to the grocery store.  I recognize this is not the behavior of a rational person.

Day after tomorrow is my birthday.  The boy is taking me out to dinner.  By that I mean that he is driving me, in my car, to a restaurant of my choosing (as long as it's not too far away and doesn't take too long) where I will buy food for both of us, then he will bring me back home and leave me here alone so he can go out with his friends.  There is not one person on this planet from whom I would expect a gift.  I would be thrilled with a card, though I know I'll get emails and Facebook well-wishes. A coworker will bring me lunch.

Times like this I have to wonder where I went wrong.  How did I end up 48 and alone?  I have good friends, any of whom I could call and say "Hey..it's my birthday, take me somewhere!" and they would.  But how did I end up this age without someone with whom it is just assumed I will spend my birthday? A significant other. 

We make our choices I suppose, but never did I think it would come down to taking a taxi to a doctor's appointment because I don't have anyone to take me, or forcing The Boy to spend time with me against his will to keep me from sitting alone and wondering exactly where I ruined my life, or relying on my dogs for the majority of my daily interactions.  

Sorry...I don't have a happy end for this one.  I thought writing would make me feel better.  Wrong again.  I guess I can just offer the advice that if you have a family, cherish them.  If you have one of those pain in the ass families that's always wanting to get together, make time and do it. Because they may not always be there, and you may find yourself relying on friends, neighbors and coworkers in your time of need.  It's humbling, that's for sure.

Today's lunch....Big Mac & small fries.  I had to threaten The Boy to get him to bring it to me.  Good times.

Edit-----What a fucking ray of sunshine I am, huh?  I'm pulling my head out of my ass long enough to acknowledge that I am LUCKY in that my physical situation is temporary.  And I'm lucky to have a boy I can guilt into giving me the gift of his time on my birthday, and friends who take time out of their busy lives to come get my gimpy ass to save my sanity. Hell even my ex husband would come get me if I need him to.  But I do think I realize how the elderly become homeless and crazy.  Yes, I mourn the absence of a Significant Other or big family to help me, but there are some people who have NOBODY...and that would be soul-crushing and mind-breakingly sad.  

Using the Interwebz as God Intended

I have all this stuff I should be doing on my lunch break.  And I don't mean woe-is-me type stuff.  I don't have a pile of shit that needs to be shoveled from point A to point B, nor are there a bunch of unwieldy large rocks that will remain forever freakishly huge if Yours Truly doesn't break them into smaller, more manageable, rocks.  I'm talking about sitting in my air conditioned office, eating my Subway sandwich and balancing my checkbook, making some personal phone calls, maybe writing something hilarious and thought-provoking and worth reading.

But what am I doing?

Reading Baby Sideburns, looking at Funny Dog Pictures, becoming obsessed with music videos and wasting time gathering lots of useless knowledge (because everything on the internet is true).

That's what Al Gore invented the internet for, right?