I’m trying not to count my chickens or knock on wood too few of times, but thus far, this surgery is night and day from the last. Last time, the weeks that followed were the most physically painful of any event of my life. This time, I almost feel normal. I think I may even start working again Friday or Saturday—as well as working out. Neither of which am I supposed to do for another two weeks, but this is crazy great. Maybe it just because I was so mentally prepared for physical agony, but whatever it is, I’ll take it.
The bad part? When I sit around and when I don’t work out, I eat. In that sense I am miserable. But I can’t stop. Such is the life of a compulsive. Emotionally, I’m doing pretty good. Got a little teary over the word “gnocchi” (the most perfect meal I’ve ever had was in San Fran) while playing scrabble with the family, but other than that, I’ve done a pretty good job of turning off my mind. MD called, we hadn’t talked in a bit, and she was asking about things the past few weeks. I told her briefly what had been going on. She knows the three vices I turn to when I’m depressed, sad, anxious (fill in emotion). I’ve been turning to two of them. Immediately, she asked, “have you been eating?”
Tomorrow? Hmmm, I’m thinking homemade tortilla from the Mexican supermarket just down the block.
Black Coffee Tables
1 year ago