Monday, February 11, 2019
Oh. . . reconciliation, amelioration, etc. Sunday was better than Saturday, but I am fighting off a grunge in my belly. My skin and muscles hurt, too. There are times, for real, when only opioids will do. I know that from a long stay in the hospital that I hardly remember. True. Ili told me I had a catheter. I can't recall that at all. She said I kept complaining about it and pulling it out. But there are far more things that the old Morphine kept me from remembering, all to the good. If I had Morphine last night, I'd be tip-top today.
But we live in fear.
People ask me jokingly if I am going to get another Vespa. I think about it. It was the most fun I had. People are flabbergasted when I say so. But what is the point of living in fear? Bad things happen. I could have gotten hit on my bicycle just as easily. I miss jumping on the Vespa and taking a ride.
It is only when I try to move that I question that decision. Movement is not fun for me now. But I keep working at it. I am no defeatist. Not all the time. A moment here and there, but who doesn't have that?
More than anything, I want to be able to travel. Q asked me yesterday if I wanted to take a road trip. Sure I do. What he doesn't understand since he doesn't see me is that going to work is as much as I can stand. I want to get into the car and drive around the country. I want to get on a plane.
It will be awhile.
I got this grunge from taking care of my mother, by the way. She was keeping her house very warm. It felt like she was growing funguses in there. I tried not to breathe the air or touch the surfaces. You can only do that for a minute, and I wouldn't not take care of my good old mom.
I will try to find a story to tell, I swear. I can't tell the one I just lived through, but maybe something will pop up today. I will try to take a photo or two as well. I have goals.
Don't we all?