Thursday, July 19, 2007

My Own Beat

Normally I am not the kind of person who walks around saying: "Hey, Blueberry! Go fuck yourself!" But lately, that's just how I feel.

I'm really irritated that a successful recovery from surgery means that I can't work out temporarily. That, coupled with the fact that I recently quit smoking, means I might actually gain a few pounds over the next couple months and will subsequently take me further from my physical ideal, which is a cross between a coke-addled supermodel and AIDS chic.

Honestly, I look sort of like a Muppet, Grover I think. All skinny with a swollen belly... Sexy I ain't, right now. But, that aside, my fur is coming in nicely. And, FYI, Vicodin does nothing for emotional pain whatsoever, nada! So abandon any ideas you might have about us running away together and spooning, because there aren't enough monkeys in the zoo to make me wanna spend another smidge of energy thinking about what the possible ramifications of the impact of.... Where is that prescription bottle?

I just want a time machine, you know? Take me back to the 14th of February, 1979, Cologne, Germany... I will sit, all of eight, quiet and attentive. I will make resolutions and ration my reserves. I hang on your every word. Fall into your backlight. I am uncool and God only knows what Valentinus did in the first place.

I feel empty
I feel dark
I remark
I am mesmerized
By my own beat
Like a heartbeat


Saturday, July 14, 2007

If You Cut Me...

I have been recovering from surgery, so please forgive me if I am brief.

The operation took place on Wednesday afternoon, or evening, I should say, as it was almost dark as we left the surgical center. Never have surgery in the afternoon. Always opt for an early morning slot, as your surgeon will be fresh and it will be easier to fast in your sleep. I couldn't eat a thing all day and I was nervous and since I quit smoking, that's what I do when I'm nervous. Anyway, the operation went smoothly and I wasn't in any real pain until the next day.

After several days of recuperating and lots of educational television, I feel a little better. My sister has been a great help, as she is a nurse and has had a cesarean section herself. I'm not saying that the procedures are comparable, just similar. I feel more like a deleted scene from an ALIEN movie, where the monster is successfully removed from the abdomen before it hatches. I will have a scar shaped like a smile, just under my navel. Sexy, huh?

Wait til you see the pictures...
Anyway, I'm alive.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Do I Not Bleed?

As I mentioned before, I have a hole that needs fixing. Not a temporary filling, but a permanent closure that will prevent that which is within me from coming out. I have elected to have surgery, right away. Tomorrow, in fact, tomorrow afternoon.

I suppose it would behoove me to stop being so elusive and just come out with it. There is, unfortunately, nothing very poetic about a hernia. In fact, this hernia is a result of residual trauma from a previous hernia surgery I had nine years ago. See, they punched a hole through my abdominal wall with a camera and then forgot to close up that hole when they were done. Over the years, as I gained and lost many pounds, the hole started to stretch larger until little bits of my guts could ooze out. I would just push them back in and go about my business, but since I recently started strength training at the gym, the problem has gotten worse...

I decided that I needed to have this done right away, because, truthfully, is there ever really a convenient time to have surgery? Besides, I like the symbolism of it. All the energy that has escaped through the hole in my navel will be reclaimed. I will be born anew and emerge even stronger... Like the Six-Million Dollar Man or the Bionic Woman or Madonna. It will be great.

I will keep you posted on my progress.
Be with me,

Monday, July 09, 2007

The Glitter Fades

Personally, I can't wait until this whole Mercury Retrograde thing is over. Breakdowns in communications and emotional outbursts are so passe. I feel like if we are ever going to truly control our lives, that we have to get a better grip on the solar system and astrologically stop shit from going bad.

I'm kidding, of course. But that doesn't change the fact that am in the middle of a sacrificial rite of passage, letting go of the old in order to embrace the new. Madness occasionally rears its ugly head, but who am I to judge? I have an appointment tomorrow with a man who says he can fix the hole. It's all just bittersweet symphonics, but it feels like something more permanent. All that never remains...

Thursday, July 05, 2007

I Know It's Over

So, yeah... I'm deconstructing within the structure again. This time with blockquotes, so you'll get nice and confused. I had to take down the last entry, because it was a stupid fucking holiday reference and an excuse to post a photo of me in front of a flag. Fuck that! I hate holidays.... I hate independence and I hate this, too. In it's unholiness:

Attraction is a strange and mysterious force. Regrettably, we don't have the canine luxury of blatent ass-sniffing in order to screen our company. Instead, human interaction is less obvious but serves the same purpose when getting to know someone. Often times, relationships develop through repeated exposure as is the case with office romance. The various parties are able to sniff each other out and then decide if they want to go there or not.

Luckily, I have no such problems. If I find someone I work with attractive, I do my best to ignore them and under no circumstance do any sniffing at all. Not that my industry is exactly teeming with types I might be attracted to... In my office, no one wants to Dunder my Mifflin and that's okay with me. I'm not closeted at work and there are many people that will happily discuss how disgusting Paris Hilton is or what's really wrong with Britney or any number of somewhat "gay" subjects. I just don't put out that vibe at work. I am a professional and I have a serious Defamer addiction to maintain.

I make excuses, obviously. I am working overtime in order to use the phrase "Dunder my Mifflin", which I don't even get. Does anyone watch television anymore? Does anyone have a job? Where is everybody going? Where's everybody....... *At this point, the Diva hits the floor and you know what that means. No, I'm not seeing more than two psychotherapists. Yes, I decided that I must have an elective surgery, right away. No, I'm not lying, exaggerating or otherwise fucking with you. Yes, you, the only one left. We'll just sit here crying together, hoping that the embassy sends an ambulance before we've expired. Maybe in time, we all just rot. In the meantime, I have to get on daddy's good side.

"If you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very entertaining
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight ?
I know ...
'Cause tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms..."

The Smiths