normal? really?!?

So, Papi told me it's normal to get depressed after surgery.

Having that information is good, because I can tell myself that it's going to end, and that it's not coming from any other reasons.

I suppose all the sugar in my diet didn't help matters.

Like I told you, sugar is very problematic for my system, emotionally and physically.

Anyway, I feel like my body is one big sack of rotting potatoes, molding and morphing into another organic substance.

I'm so exhausted, that to just lift my arms isn't worth the effort.

So I won't even bother reaching for a drink of water.

My Boifriend called and I was so grateful he had more to talk about with himself, so I could just listen.

It was fun to mumble on the phone the other day to The Yank as well, but I can't feel my lips so it's hard to move them around.  They might fall off.

Oh, I'm obviously too tired to stay on topic.

Depressed.

Normal?

Horrible.

Every muscle in my body sinks into the couch.  If I got a little warmer, maybe I'd just melt into the leather.

Sir Bark-a-lot would probably just lick me up.  Actually, I'm pretty sure the whole Fuzzy Family would join in.

Part of what got me into this state was that yesterday, I decided today I would work on some music, but I just didn't have the will.  I just didn't have the strength.

The other part is the G'ma.  I was invited out to a games night/St. Patrick's Day sleep over with My Person, and originally I had said yes, however, Papi brought up a good point: we'd both be out of the house while G'ma was sleeping, because my love has to work another graveyard. 

That's not going to work.  We can't just leave the 96 year old Alzheimer's patient alone throughout the night.

I just saw all my freedom simmer away, like those little bubbles of water in a frying pan.  They just fizzle and burn, until eventually all they are is a tiny 'poof' of steam.

I just was told to stop driving, which isolates me in the furthest depths of my city.  Then the option to actually get out of the house to escape the dungeon was crushed because someone has to babysit the old fart and my love is working.

Yup.  Wallowing.

My bottom lip is swollen from the surgery, and a little bit more from the pouting.

After I succumbed to the acceptance of not going out, I realized, I'm too fucking tired to do anything anyway, so I started to keep a tally.

Every time that crazy old fart yells down the stairs, "Is the cat down there?" and then rolls her walker throughout the house bellowing for Psycho Kitty, I mark it down on a tally.

She was at 10 before she started drinking her sherry.  After the sherry she calmed down.

... hmmm ... i think i see a plan forming here ...

At least it was something to giggle at, instead of curse her, every time she screams down to my space reminding me that this is not really my home.

It's hers.

I thought about eating again, but eating means I have to actually remove myself from this spot.  Not to mention, I would have to clean up my mess of a mouth afterward.  That's a big commitment to make.

I just need to sit here and wallow until I get out of the Pit of Doom.

What's good however, is that I'm still doing my gratitude list every day with My Gratitude Buddy and now, also with my MC Guru.  I get a double helping of gratitude every day!

I thought that I wouldn't have anything to be grateful for, because I just lied here all day, but I was wrong.

There's always something.

I'm grateful that this depression is normal and will end.

it's not about getting a chance, it's about taking a chance