It's been a week since my surgery.
A long, slow, grinding week, characterized by constant pain, an inability to eat anything more substantial than liquids or pureès, an inability to form anything more than a few words that register above a whisper. I've spent long hours looking at the walls, wrestling with the most basic of decisions - (should I pick up that empty toilet roll tube off the floor so that the dog doesn't chew it - or no?)
I took a photo of the visible part of my throat last night. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to see it and I when I did see it I was sure that I didn't - and I wish I hadn't.
It is raw. It is mutilated. It is green! There is so much putrid slough in there that mere sight of it makes me want to gag. If only I could gag.
In short - I am thoroughly sick of myself.
I'll understand if you choose to vague out now because I know my misery can be interpreted as self indulgent. But I will say that blogging about this experience has gone some way in helping me cope with the situation.
And I will say that on Thursday, I had a slight bump in energy and motivation - enough that I took my dog Sam for a walk to the park and let him off to run around for a bit. Adelaide's parklands near my house are a wonderful open space, safe from traffic and just perfect for burning off some canine energy. Sam was, of course, as pleased as punch. The walk ruined me but I was glad I did it.
I also did some writing on Thursday. Not much - around two thousand words; but they are new words I've committed to a project I've tentatively called Walhalla - one that I've been trying to get going for a little while now. Again, my concentration collapsed after a few hours but, for a time their, it was really nice to just write something - to have some creativity flowing through me. I have only the vaguest idea of where this material will fit into an eventual story. That doesn't matter to me though. These things can be worked out later.
As I predicted, the pointy end of necessary human interaction is beginning to make itself felt and it is not encouraging. Of the few trips I've made to my local grocer this week, I've found them to be understanding without having to divulge the circumstances of my situation. Other places have regarded me with confusion, a latent suspicion and unabashed antipathy. One lady at the chemist the other day when I was trying to mouth the word tramadol, came right out and said, rather incredulously, "You can talk you know!"
A predictable ignorance.
The minute you hope for understanding, human nature comes in and shits all over it.
So I'm avoiding going out unless it's absolutely necessary. Soon, sadly, it is going to be necessary. I'm dreading that.
I think I'm done with pop culture. Looking through my social network feed this week, I've seen a number of spot fires raging around controversies within the Marvel and Star Wars universes and they are just so hack. Something about Captain America being a Nazi now and, shock horror, the forthcoming Rogue One film has to undergo some reshoots - like that never happens.
The pretentiousness of these hyper fans is really difficult to cope with and I feel as though there is an expectation on the part of some of them to engage in a war to justify some sort of defense of an ideology. It's fucking fiction! It's not key to human survival. Their consistent argument is that "my fandom is bigger than your fandom so your opinion has no validity!" I've encountered this personally in just the past week. It is confronting.
It's indicative to me that fandom is essentially broken and that maybe it is time to abandon certain franchises - *cough* Marvel *cough* that have already been twisted up in so many knots, the ability to ret conn them is virtually useless.
Further, I find that fans in my own beloved franchise have hitched themselves to it in sych a way that they have begun identifying themselves as "Star Wars" celebrities. That, because they flaunt their fandom as though it's some kind of penis symbol, they have assumed the right to be intertwined with the universe - almost as if they were in the fucking films themselves. It is annoying. Infuriating even.
I am trying to pay attention to the Federal Election campaign here currently because I like to think of myself as a responsible civic citizen and I want to take my vote seriously. But, I can't make sense of any of the arguments being put forward by the participating political parties. It's becoming lost in confusion and slogans. The only things the nation seems to have been talking about is the economy, superannuation, tax and jobs. Nothing about the arts. Nothing about social justice issues. Nothing about climate. We are a nation obsessed with money and the problems we face as a nation going forward require more than just money to address them.
But then I'm lost again.
Anyway, I have gone off on a major tangent. But it is illustrative of where my mind is at right now. I am unable to focus on anything for more than a short period of time before I am quickly distracted - then disinterested.
And I sit and look out the window.
There's a toilet roll tube on the top of the fence paling.
Ah Dean, I know you don't feel your best right now, but believe me when I say you're coming across as eloquent and reasonable, and completely relatable. Dude, two thousand words is a HUGE writing day for me, at the best of states of health! (I usually set my bar at 300 words a day. Thus why it takes me a year to get a book done.) So you are doing fabulous if you ask me.ReplyDelete
Ugh, yeah, Big Name Fans...that can get ugly. You don't ever want to get famous for essentially bullying people. Ignore those types, and stick with the nice fans--they're definitely out there!