Enough Ass Already!

It is Saturday night - day 8 of my recovery from the incident with the devil dog. 8 solid days of rest and relaxation. When I was put on short term disability, I thought, hell yeah. I am going to catch up on all those books I wanted to read. I am going to write the next great American novel. I am going to have a drink with breakfast, god damnit. You know what really happens? Nothing. I mean, seriously, nothing.

Pee, shower, brush teeth, get dressed.

Go downstairs.

Meds, breakfast, plop my ass on the couch.

Lunch, meds.

Dinner, meds.

Go upstairs.

Wash face, brush teeth, bedtime, meds.

Repeat. Somewhere in there I go for a walk so that my muscles do not become completely worthless and I turn into some sort of couch-blob concoction that becomes the major focus of a study by the CDC.

The weirdest part of all of this? The part that I don't think I ever expected in a million years? How lonely I am. I feel so disconnected from the world. All I ever talk about is me. How I feel, how I look, when my next doctors appointment is, have I pooped, when do I need to take the next round of meds...it is maddening. I used to talk to these same people about politics and books and art and mutual friends and family. Now we talk about if I was able to shit with or without a suppository. Seriously, people. I am officially banning my ass from all topics of conversation. Unless it is something like, damn, that is a fine ass. Because, come on, I'll take the compliments where I can get them.

And, I know what you are going to say - they are concerned, they love me, they want to make sure I am ok. I get that. I love them for that. But, I am just not that interesting. Especially to me. Because all I do all day is hang out with me, thinking about me, doing stuff with me. I am sick and fucking tired of myself! For reals. There is an entire world going on outside of my couch and you are all the window into it. I want to hear some juicy gossip and funny stories about stupid people doing stupid shit. I want to laugh and forget about the fact that my very existence consists of being heavily medicated on the couch drinking diet Vernors. Because, dude, that existence blows some serious ass. Damnit. Here we are back again talking about asses.

I know it will go away. I know that I will once again be released into the wild, to wreak havoc upon our poor city in some sort of post-couch drunken celebration. I know that this is just a temporary frustration. And the important thing is that I get better...blah, blah, blah.

Until then, have faith that Erratic will rise yet again. And if it gets that bad, I'll totally share my meds.