Shoot me now. Really, please do. Or at least knock me out for a fortnight and wake me up when the world is a rosier place. Next to the recent long list of horrific natural disasters that have happened around the world, my own grumbles appear petty. But hey, that has never stopped me from voicing them. I'm sure others want to hear my long list of woe is me. Particularly as I've been on strong pain meds for the past week. If I break out in a tortuous rendition of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, blame the meds and look away quickly. When combined with my delusional belief that I am undiscovered singing sensation thanks to a religious devotion to American Idol, it's not going to be pretty. I believe "hot mess", is the term being used by the kids these days, and may best describe my current level of decrepitude.
In time I will regale you with my exciting exploits of the past week. Be warned it involves my lady bits, a radiologist I call Igor the Inept, who makes Peter Garrett look competent (sorry, inside Australian political joke. Peter Garrett in Midnight Oil equals musical gold. Peter Garrett selling his soul to the devil to become yet another useless politician equals horror movie), and Mr grumpy adding adult jokes to an ABC book he was reading to a complete stranger's two-year-old whilst I tried to not pass out in my local ER. Good times. Though the fact that the little boy kept yelling "mummy" every time Mr Grumpy got to "E is for elephant", still cracks me up.
(Do not let this man near your ladybits)Long story short, what should have been simple pelvic and hip scans has led to popped discs in my back, a popped right hip and and introduction to the delight that shall for ever be dear to my heart, Oxycontin. I have spent the past five days flat on my back, trying not to move, whilst my three slave boys have brought me chocolate, drinks and taken care of household chores. I think they realised it was an above average amount of pain as I actually requested an ER trip, when normally I would rather poke my eyes out with a rusty spoon and sit through the entire movie
I have now added the joy of trying to pass petrified pain med poo, and my youngest monkey boys pestilence (common cold to him, ebola to me) to the mix. Uncontrolled sneezing and popped discs do not good bed fellows make.
I am still not up to date with responding to comments, messages or emails. Part of that is due to FB which is trying to drive me to drink, by not letting me access my messages. If you'll get onto that Mr Zuckerburg, I'll much appreciate it. And part due to the fact I break out in tears every time I read the lovely responses to Processing. Stupid drugs making me teary.
Hilariously my friend Kerri has given me a copy of a speech she is due to present at the end of this month, to proof read. I'm not sure if writing "I am the Walrus" 2O times in the margin and drawing pictures of unicorns in left over dark chocolate Lindt bunny crumbs is going to help, but damn it, aint no mountain high enough, or pain meds sending me gaga enough, I am going to proof read this talk if it kills me. That's friendship people. Kerri is a tireless advocate for MS patients here in Australia, so the least I can do is add my cracking intellect to her talk.
(Bob + pain + pain meds + passing rock hard number 2s + pestilence = ......)
Okay, time to go and pass out in a corner somewhere. I do highly recommend pouring eucalyptus oil in the bottom of your shower, turning on the hot water, closing the en suit door, lying on the tiles and inhaling the fumes, whilst whimpering in pain. Not sure if seeing Ringo Starr sitting cross legged on the edge of my toilet, drinking champagne out of Thomas the Tank Engine's head is a good sign. But his voice is rather hypnotic and he had some really good ideas on how to de-mould my tub.
Do-over week please.
Koo Koo Achoo my friends.
On a serious note: please give to one of the many funds for the survivors of the Japanese earthquake and Tsunami and the ongoing nuclear threat. I was lying in the ER watching it unfold live on TV and I still can't wrap my head around the size of this tragedy. My heart goes out to them and all those around the world touched my natural disasters over the past few months.
I do find singing dramatic 80's tunes as loudly as possible does make me feel better. This (1982, original filmclip) one of my favourite power ballads. Sung many times into my hairbrush as a child, sung loudly in the car to the horror of my children and their friends, as an adult. "Turn around bright eyes. Turn around bright eyes. Turn around", I hear you Bonnie. I hear you. Children of the 80's sing it loud and sing it proud.
1984 live at the Grammys. Bonnie Tyler, Total Eclipse of the Heart.