i am determined to do laundry, change the bedding, and... rotate the mattress. there's quite the indentation in the one spot where i haul my legs, torso attached.
every task is qualified. doing laundry requires smaller than usual loads, in hopes of not causing the machine to wail out its concern over my balancing techniques. transferring the wet, clean contents of the washer to the dryer requires the assistance of fred, bianca, or an errant member of the domestic staff -- though buddy, the freakishly large kitten, conveys his willingness to help, as well. sometimes, in a fit of pique common to the maine coon, he files a grievance on behalf of the feline contingent of marlinspike hall, the gist of which is that they worked long and hard, in miserable conditions, to impart a suitable scent to the items being washed, and -- if it please the court -- they request a Stay of Laundering.
he's staring at me as i type this. that's okay, you humongous hunk of cathood, i stare right back at you!
my back itches, my hands are peeling. my forehead is dominated by a glowering unibrow. pseudomonas is growing in my shoulder wound. vinegar is my friend. seven minutes, not four, is the perfect brewing time in my new bodum french press, at least with this italian roast. how the heck have i managed to rotate this mattress in the past, much less now?
fred fell back into his lax ways last night, staying up until 5 am, when we blinked at each other in passing. soft, quiet blinks. i may also have wagged an index finger, don't remember. he'd been doing quite well getting to bed earlier but must've got caught up in some project... or a movie.
i bring up our blinking encounter because some of you think fred should jump in and rotate the mattress for me. he's offered, really, he has. just as my tasks are qualified, though, so are fred's offers of assistance. he'd be happy to help -- in his own time, usually plotted in an amorphous territory lazily called "tomorrow," and in his own way (when putting up groceries, for example, he leaves unrelated, stray items sitting on the counter -- where they would stay unless i stashed 'em somewhere; when putting my clothes away in the closet, he likes to place the majority of them on shelves i cannot reach). go ahead and call me a bitch, i don't care.
it's just that i have run into a good half dozen instance this morning, already, of not being able to reach some common household items. this usually means that i have to grab a grabber, and not many of them are in good shape any more, and pull, prod, push the item so that i can catch it as it falls. my arms are too weak to keep the grabber's bite firm enough to actually grab the thing...
it is possible that i am run down, depressed, and choosing to deal with it by taking others' inventory, lavishing upon them the criticim that i, alone, am due.
okay, well, here i go. it looks like there will need to be a bit of eviction action before the actual bedding change. buddy and marmy, an unlikely couple, are curled up together on top of three pillows. three! dobby, sweet diplomat, holds an obscene pose, stretched out in all his glory atop a pile of dirty clothes, pink nose and ears, the star on his head, a dependable point of reference. dobby is not a lap cat, but has become one, temporarily. he figured out that i need to be needed, so he needs my very lap, shooting threatening looks at buddy, who has a tendency to hoot at the perceived weaknesses of his manor mates. heart of a lion, has dobby.
i took considerably less pain medicine yesterday, and hope the trend continues today. i remain exhausted, and wonder if i need another transfusion -- i had two units in the hospital -- though the more likely cause is that i am... exhausted. no sinister reason behind it.
the dressing changes aren't the facile, pristine affairs i had envisioned. i don't much care for blood or red, glistening tissue, or the thought of microbes prancing around midst all that... effluvia. ew. ick.
but there hasn't been another instance of accumulated green stinky gunk, nothing like what the orthopedic surgeon recognized from across the room as an infestation of pseudomonas.
did i tell you i am walking some? from bed to bathroom, and i haven't taken a tumble yet. there's been, in fact, only one moment where the floor loomed large, and i recovered like someone who has been walking her entire life.
yes, i AM trying to put off the work at hand.
sigh.
you are a tyrant, sweet reader.
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