, , , , ,

Apologies in advance: this is going to be a ramble. I can say this with all confidence before I write another word, because I took a percocet 10 minutes ago. Just one. If I’d taken two, you’d be getting something much closer to Kubla Khan, I suspect.

This convalescence deal would be great stuff, if it weren’t for the fact that every time I bend a knee, take a deep breath, or raise my head it feels like I got kicked in the guts by a small but powerful and pissed-off donkey wearing jackboots. The pain sucks.

The percocet, on the other hand, is quite nice, even if all it does is take a little of the edge off and leave me blinking raptly at the walls. And I’ve read five books since I got home from the hospital on Tuesday evening. If you’re wondering, Stacia Kane’s Personal Demons has just about the hottest sex scene I’ve read in – well, since I don’t read romance, it’s been a very long time. It’s also been a very long time since I could read so much, and it’s truly lovely to be able to finish one and pick up another; I always loved doing that. Jennifer Rardin’s Jaz Parks series, which has four books and better have five soon (I hate waiting once I’ve gotten into a series) has great action, and most wonderfully has a heroine that can consort with vampires/weres/etc. without being anything but a kickass slightly-gifted human CIA assassin – more than enough for an engaging MC, IMO.

Next on my list is Stephen King’s new short story collection, Just After Sunset, which my mum and her beau brought over last night. I always enjoy King’s short stories (I almost wrote “I always enjoy King’s shorts” – percocet has definitely kicked in), so this should get me through a nice big chunk of the morning/early afternoon, after which I am going to haul my sore, slow, whiny ass out of bed long enough to shower (this is the first day I’m allowed to -and as an aside, you know the measure of your spouse by the sincerity with which he can say you look beautiful when you’re A. 2 days past bathing, B. slightly haggard with pain, and C. loopy and starey-eyed on an oxycontin derivative – I actually believed him for a few minutes, bless him) and then I’m going to cook up goat-cheese stuffed tomatoes and oven-roasted potatoes.

You know why I’m going to do that? Because my family decided if I can’t get in a car and go see them, they’ll come see me for Thanksgiving. So we’re busting ot the folding table and chairs (we have a very small apartment) and I’m going to dig around for the decent table cloth. It’s nice to be surrounded by people who give a damn. I tend to forget that, buried as I so often am in the lives of imaginary people with imaginary problems. Makes this a rather appropriate holiday.

Here’s hoping I can shower without falling over, because damn. Nobody’s going to be particularly thankful to see me if I don’t. Ugh.

I’m getting back into the revisions tomorrow. That’s the plan, anyway, and it may not work – I’ve been sitting in this chair for about 15 minutes while I write this, and ow. I may need to dig up the old Laptop of Questionable Stability (the hard drive keeps falling out of it) and log into my desktop so I can work without sitting upright for too long, because OW. And not the my-MS-is-bleeding-ink kind of ow, this is a whooole different planet of ow. The surgeon came back to visit while I was in post-op drooling into a pillow, and when I said I was a little sore (trying to be all stiff-upper-lip despite an interesting combination of morphine and percocet that didn’t really allow for stiff muscles of any sort) he said, very seriously, “Well, I did knock you down and stab you four times.”

Har very har. Except it kind of feels like that right now.

But I had a mocha latte yesterday, and cheese with my crackers last night. Dairy, chocolate and coffee are back on the menu. That’s worth a couple stab wounds.