A Cute New Moan Yaa

Didja ever wonder how ya got yerself into the position of having two kids, a husband with a broken foot, and a chest that feels like an ogre's foot is resting atop, not-so-lightly? The Nice Nurse Lady said to take it very seriously - this is my first day sitting up at all - and then she said I could go back to work Wednesday! (It was Friday afternoon.) I'm not sure how nice she is. "They used to hospitalize people for this," she told me. But now there are strong medicines, with names like floxamoxatoxapox. Whatever happened to 'spend two weeks in bed?'

My friends are very excellent because they get me stuff like food and they call me and they bring dinner. Chrystal actually took dictation so I could send the appropriate notes into work. I have two bobbing heads in my brain, like in those old cartoons, with good and evil, only these are both slightly malevolent. Left shoulder: above-mentioned Nurse Lady, apparently sweet but sending me back to work strangely early, as she tells me that I won't fully recuperate for weeks. She speaks out of a lipsticked little mouth, on a teeny-tiny face, in front of a tiny head, atop a big bosom like some of my old aunts. Maybe she is actually a character from an indie film? The other head is my boss, a go-get-'em Irish broad who told me recently that my work is not quite what it was in the fall. Her message upon hearing of the new-moan-aaa, "I hope you feel better, and thanks for keeping me up to date," obviously meant 'get your ass in here.' Hello? I'm Jewish and my family adheres religiously to the stereotype: 'stay in bed;' 'I'd visit, but I don't want to catch anything;' 'What's the name of the antibiotic?'

Anyway, why work for people who really give a shit about what you're doing? Can I just be mediocre?

I did bathe today and that was a big effort and this is a big effort and I feel like total crap. Waaa.