I am vicious thirsty. Smoking significantly increase your likelihood of complications from surgery, even death. If they can’t do this thing through the little holes they drill, they will have to cut me open. It happened to Dale.
Other than my fear of a long, terrible recovery, I worry that this surgery, like the hysterectomy, won’t take care of my pain. That there is nothing wrong with my gallbladder. That I actually have hysteria. Which should have gone away when they yanked out my womb. But did not. Because they actually yanked out something else and left her inside and she is traveling to and fro throughout my body. Hence the pain in my wrists then my neck then my bikini line then the infected purple dot on my arm or wherever. She stays a while in one part, then moves on to my elbow, taking the pain with her. Unless she is especially angry and knocks me down with oh my god I have the flu.
I worry also that I won’t be able to go back to work this fall. Something I very much want to do. Or that I will die, before my book is loved as it should be because it is such a beautiful feisty girl with her own horse. I sent it to the agent last night. It needs another edit, possibly another overhaul, but you see, I may die.
However if I do die, it will not be before stocking my new fridge and realizing what my new fridge actually is. Which is a new fridge stuffed with food. I am destined to have a fridge stuffed with food. This would be true if I lived alone. This was true when Dale and I were in Tuscany and the little knee-high fridge was STUFFED with food. This is because of my mother.
I think I thought the fridge would somehow be a fridge so neat and tidy with just a jar of mayonnaise and Champagne on the shelf. Maybe a can of Diet Coke, a carton of eggs. I thought it would be carefully staged, just as I think if I had the white kitchen in all the TV commercials it would be just as clean and perfect two studious children a mom with perfect hair a dad stirring the marinara. But this is not who we are. My new fridge is a new fridge, much larger than the old fridge, but it is a new fridge stuffed with food. Without water and ice through the door which I am already missing. Dale has to fix the water filter on the kitchen sink I SWEAR. I cannot, CANNOT not drink water, lots of it, all day. It is my favorite drink.
However, the Rachael Ray casserole is quite lovely. I am eager for the others to arrive. I hope this will turn me into a woman who cooks often and entertains constantly. Who maybe wears an apron. And has mad knife skills.
I actually would have been much more excited about the fridge if I hadn’t gotten so worked up, when will we they be here when will they be here why aren’t they here. If I hadn’t felt so bad because of this stupid summer cold and a bout with my irritable bladder. Which is always very painful. Just did not feel was not in the proper frame of mind to receive a new fridge. But really, the crisper drawers do seem smaller. I must add to my book that it is impossible for me not to complain for I am a princess and there is always a pea. Unless I’m unconscious. Unless I die. Well, no. There will be plenty of peas when I die. I suspect I will pick rows and rows entire fields of them and not allowed to eat any. We always had field peas, or crowder peas when I was growing up. I didn’t have a black-eyed pea until I grew up and that was because I couldn’t find field peas.
So the worst possible thing will be them giving up on the holes and plowing a big furrow into me and rooting around like pigs and pulling this thing out with their teeth. It happened to Dale. Also, I could die.
I have to go shower scrub in now. And wash my hair. Be ready for a hospital stay. Be ready for my likely confinement to the upper chamber of my house little thing I love it so.
Also, if I do die, you will not be reading these posts anymore. But I will be sure to tell Dale to alert all my Face Book friends and loyal fans of my untimely death.