Okay. Before I get too much further and forget, thank you for the kind words that you guys posted on the previous entry and/or emailed to me. I had intentionally turned off commenting on that post for...I don't know. Fear? Seems it was utterly unfounded. Again, thank you. It meant a great deal indeed.
Kay. On with the new stuff.
I'm falling smooth the fuck apart. Getting old, you see, does that. I've been trapped here of late in a spiral of, well, falling apart. Had a doc's appt. today as a follow up on the Paxil, at which time I told him I had weaned my own self off it. He looked a little surprised, but took one look at my freshly-waxed moustaches, bristling with righteous something or other, smiled and said "Okay," in his Mexican accent, which I shall not try to reproduce here phonetically, because it would look more like "Hookay," but I digress. "Okay," sez he, "Just remember that for the next six months if you feel suicidal or want to kill anyone, be sure and call me."
I'm still not certain if he was joking.
The other part of my evening was spent getting a wrist splint (like Mad Max, only on my wrist and not on my leg, and not worth nearly as many cool points) and some non-steroidal (no neighing for me!) anti-inflamatory meds for my tennis elbow.
"But Doc, I don't play tennis" I said, gamely.
Seems about three months ago I damaged the ligament that runs from my elbow up and over the top of my forearm and terminates somewhere around my wrist, and it's never healed, only gotten more and more inflamed, which equals, for me, lots of pain whenever I do this ("Then don't do that!") with my arm. So it's a crazy black-nylon rig for me that makes me type all funny (it's taken me three and a half days just to write this much) and makes me itchy sweaty and is going to do terrible things to my tan not to mention preventing me from riding Betty (the bike) but hey, I'd rather stop hurting.
Oh, and did I mention that my eyeballs feel like they're made of chrome and are resting in a set of rusty orbits? I spent three hours online a few nights ago, sans overhead light, working on my taxes. "Labyrinthine" isn't the word for that process. "Sharp stick up the joxie" is closer, but let's not mince words...it was bad. But I got it done, and in exchange I seem to have strained my eyeball muscles.
Yeah, laugh all you want but I'm the one that's gonna puke all over you when I twitch my eyes around to refocus on something else and it hurts like somebody just stuck a sharp stick up my joxie. That being said, I'm going to cut this post short before I end up spending a whole week sitting here whining about the glories of getting older and working on a computer without good lighting or wearing my glasses.
The good news is that the doc says when this splint thing comes off I'll be able to play the piano, which is great, because I never could play it before!