Mr. O, bless his heart, has really picked up the slack around here, but well, today is the two-week mark since my insides were puffed up to resemble the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, and some things--namely, the Organic Uterus--were removed, and other things--most notably, not the Organic Bladder because that is the one organ I have that is made of steel, y'all--were repaired, and well, I should be to back normal, or at least normal-ish. But no, in addition to still looking about 5 months pregnant, my energy levels would not register on even the most sensitive of Richter scales. I am most comfortable in this position
I did forget to send in my mail-order prescription for my thyroid medicine, and have been without it for going on two weeks now. Hmmm, maybe there is some correlation between the two. And something about the way my innards are feeling makes me wonder if I got put back together altogether properly. I trust my doctor, I do. I am just feeling bummed out (pun intended, and how).
Around about 5 PM everyday, I start thinking about tomorrow and how it (tomorrow) will be different - how I will take on The World or at least that corner of my bedroom that is an absolute disaster of paperwork, yarn, needles, books, and you-name-it, it's in that corner - because, as you know, World Domination begins with reclaiming corners.
I pull out my notebook and I contemplate lists - granted, I don't actually make the lists I just ponder what I might put on them. Like:
1. Start with the corner
2. Finish with the rest of the World
But then my mind turns to the favorite pen I am holding in my left hand (the hand that would do the actual writing of said list(s)) and I think, "You know, there really isn't enough letter writing in the world. It's a dying art."
Then I start thinking about how I should begin a letter writing campaign, sending off letters to anyone and everyone I know to see if I get any nibbles on the line - like trolling for fish, except in this case, it's for letters, see?
And then I start thinking of all the other things there aren't enough of either, like knitting, or rather, how there aren't enough people with hand-made items from the people who love them, and I start rummaging through all the various projects and patterns at Ravelry.com.
And, oh dear, I can tell by my rambling that I must still have some analgesics (that's Dr. Pepper and chocolate to you non-medical people out there) in my system. Before you know it, it is way past bedtime, so I shut down the computer, pull out my book, and fall asleep with my book light on, never having read a word, but thinking "Tomorrow, tomorrow. For sure this time, tomorrow."