Snaps

I haven't updated the photos in a long time. There are now new pics on the flickr. If you haven't viewed before or can't seem to see anything when you click, just ask me [click on "view my complete profile" for email addy]. There's no test required to gain entry. .. unless you want one.

Here's a taste:

Other things:

I'm healing well, I think. I kind of don't want to go back to work tomorrow and am hoping there's a snow day or there's something to let me stay in my little bubble. I went for a nice, slow, long walk today in the foot+ snow. It was really wet out and the snow was still falling. I like walking with a destination so I decided to go scam quarters from the laundromat nearby. I took the messy way home through the park and went back out again with my camera. It was so quiet. Not because there was no traffic or cars, but because the cars were silenced in the slush and people stayed inside. I realized that this was the last February 25th I'd have in Madison and that made me kind of sad. A little lonely on the inside with visibility like the Arctic Pole and only slowly-filling prints in the snow to remind me that I'm not alone.

I wish I had a boyfriend:
**to tell my silly jokes to [a blizzard outside last night, I would have liked to call him up and say, "Can you drive over and take me to the grocery store? I'm out of juice." Then, I would have said I was totally kidding. Because it really was a blizzard outside.]
**to crack my upper back - I just can't seem to do it on my own.

School is plugging along. I'm happy that crazy cat lady Econ prof is so flaky. It helps relieve me from studying so hard for her class while I'm constantly trying to keep up with Stats. My next Stats exam is a week from tomorrow. Probabilities are not as easy to understand - especially when I don't have good, everyday or professional examples. I don't play poker. I am not a geneticist wondering what the probability of 4 girl babies from 10 couples.

The acceptance letters from schools have slowed as I won't hear anything until March - which, I know, is around the corner. I am requesting an expedited renewal of my passport though. Why not wait? Well, there's this possibility [which is not a probability] that I'll go to Mexico in May with the new guy [who needs a name]. He's got a gifted-over time share and a ton of frequent flier miles, and for the most part so far we get along really well. Minus a very important factor which I've only shared with James - and so shall it remain until I'm ready to talk.

I'm totally riddled with senioritis at work. I really could care less about things and feel like my performance and dedication is slowing to about 80% right now. Then again, I guess it's only due. After all, I have like 115.32 vacation hours and 161.86 sick hours left to use - which only means I've fucking worked my ass off for years.... Jeezus. I just tallied that and divided by 8. I better get to work on taking time off!!!

So, I totally omitted any info on my last weekend before the surgery. It was like "The Last Supper for Lola's Snatch." I was truly horrible. I don't even know if I want to confess out loud. If James and I were still going out, he'd totally guess what I mean when I say "I was bad." And, he'd secretly get a stiffy thinking about how naughty and slutty I can be. And, he'd love me for who I am. There are those of you out there reading who I'm not so sure you'd be so happy for me and my conquests and accomplishments. I do remind myself often to not remind myself of the readers. This is my space and my place to write. [I think you're right, Clichemonster. I do tend toward some kind of confessional self-observance of my writing right before I launch forward with whatever truth I'm going to tell. God, even this sidenote is a reflection on that confessional self-observance. Make myself sick.]

Anyway. I filled Lola's lil' holes with my darling dates. If you're smart, you'll note that Flickr adds dates to the photos. Andy in the Friday afternoon, [new guy] in the evening, and SirMax on the Saturday. Okay, so that's not so bad, is it? Shuddup. Yes, yes, yes, it's true, I could actually understand how Anna Nicole's custody conundrum would come about. [I couldn't pee to save my life at the hospital for the pre-surgery pregnancy test. I was asked if there was any way I might be pregnant. I said no. I mean, there's always a way a chick could be pregnant. Shit, the Immaculate Conception says so. Then again, I wasn't about to say, "Well, maybe, but trust me. If I am, there is no way I'll be having it so a little anesthesia won't kill anyone."]

Yes, I had a wonderful last hurrah before I had to calm down, starve myself silly, poop everything out of my body, and go through the craziness that was the hospital. I have to say that I was remarkably calm throughout the whole process. I think the most I freaked out was when I wasn't allowed to eat after 12noon on the day before the surgery. By about 10pm I was soooo hungry and so sick of berry-flavored clear water. And, I only shed one tear in the out-patient cubicle I was assigned to - when my nurse [her name was Festival] asked if I was experiencing any anxiety about the surgery. "No, no anxiety but I'm a bit nervous." One little tear of pride mixed with bravery and a bit of fear.

I stopped taking the meds yesterday. They gave me a dehydrated hang-over drowsiness and I wasn't digging sleeping for 14 hours straight. My body was starting to ache and the bed was starting to sag and I was wondering if I was going to start growing bed sores. So, if anyone wants some A-grade codeine something something rather - I've got like 12 of 'em left.

Well, I've got to go finish up the laundry before the Oscars. Not that I'll be watching, I've got homework to finish, but it'll be a nice break to see all the pretty people in gowns try to hold their tongue about the war or poverty or Darfur or God Bless or Anna N.S.

When I let myself...

There's an imagination of me drifting off counting backwards, naked under the gown on a bed that is as wide as mine at home but much more sturdy and metal. Squeaky wheels and masks and it's like ER or St. Elsewhere or any Hollywood formica floor, soft petal blue and pepto pink walls with softer lighting and nurses with mascara. And, I can hear them. I can hear them "Hemorrhoids from kids? She looks so young." "No, no, bad diet and anal sex." "Oooo. Of course, it's always the whores." I try to say something but I'm just a tiny little hermit crab trapped in a semi-truck of a body. Squeak squeak peep peep. This is what coma must be like. Struggling to force my mouth to say "I can fucking hear you, you bastards!" But nothing. And I can hear the slice, the prod, the blood, the wipe, the suture, the clean, the wheeling out. And all the while, I get to say nothing. Trapped, numb, alive.

Then there's the horror of going so deeply down that I don't come out. That it's so nice and blank out there under anesthesia that I'm comforted and drifting and floating and nothing. I loose days or weeks or ages or years. I loose important things I was trying to remember and my "to do" list, my friends' names, my parents' faces. I practice this at the gym when I'm in the weight room. I'm laying down, lifting a long, silver bar above my chest, lining up my hands, staring at a dot in the ceiling. This is not me. This is someone else. I'm only seeing through this person's eyes. And the fear disintegrates. I could almost watch the arms come down from the ceiling, slightly curved, and just not lift again. Slowly, agonizingly slow, drop drop drop the bar and the weights and sense a crushing sensation, understand a shortness of breath, but be so far gone outside/inside to not notice or care.

Then there's the terrifying fear of what I will say while outside myself. I know I'll probably cry coming out from under, but will I say ridiculous things? It's a huge moment of weakness. It's not even comparable to being black-out drunk - which I have practiced many times and succeeded in blacking out while still functioning for myself. This is a medical manipulation of reality and a distortion of myself and I will be weak. I will not be able to whimper to mama like after the wisdom teeth came out. I will not be shuffled to the car and ushered in to my teenage bed to be surrounded by the scents of mother-ness, dinner, sweet fabric softener, comfort and care. I will instead be smiled at by an unsteady and overly sisterly co-worker whom I call friend and who I recognize as my real sister in so many ways. I knew she'd be good to pick me up from the hospital, drive me home and babysit me until James came free from work. And will she smile in that "aw, Lola's cute when she's drugged up" condescending way not realizing how pained I am by vulnerability? Will she coddle me almost too much? Will I forget my manners under the waves of numb and mumble curses or insults?

James says we'll see. We'll see if he really needs to be here to babysit. That it's really just a hospital insurance. It used to be that they kept people in the hospital over night but realized it wasn't necessary, an added cost and burden. So they made sure the patient signed all the right release forms and made sure they had someone to care for them - or said they did - and then let them go out in the world. Sutured up and stapled up and on their own. He says it's really not necessary to wake someone up every 1/2 hour to make sure they're alive like my mum did after the wisdom teeth came out. He doesn't think I'll need him to stay the night.

I'm not familiar with blood. I've never broken a bone. I have suffered only in so much as knowing hospitals intimately due to asthma, ear infections, chronic bronchitis and sinus infections and many wounds on my privates. I have suffered only when the fear of the needle was so great that I had a filling in a molar without novocaine. I have never been alone when they cut me. I was not alone when they pulled out gum between my front two teeth in hopes that I'd spend an hour a day pushing them together since I fought braces. I was not alone when they put the laughing gas then the anesthesia and then took out my wisdom. I was not alone when I feel on my head and broke said front tooth and concussioned my head. I was not alone when I tore the big toe off when moving my futon around. I do not want to be alone. I am scared. I am not thinking about it because I will cry. I don't want surgery. My perfect little body might not wake up. Recovery might be harder than suffering. I am scared.

I do not want "let's see." I want hugs and I want my mommy.