11:24 am - 12.19.2008
Fri 12/19/08 (12:12 a.m.)
There’s so much to write about, I’m feeling myself “freeze up”, not knowing where to start.
So, without further ado, and in no particular order of importance, I’m going to just forge ahead...
It’s official - I’m addicted to the Internet.
It’s gotten so bad I’m having a hard time writing in here, in part because it means pulling myself away from Facebook, MySpace, CNN, Useless Junk, Fleshbot, Entertainment Weekly, and the dozen or so other websites I cycle through for hour after hour every day.
(Honestly? I wouldn’t be writing this entry right now...except my ISP is down, which stopped me checking Facebook for the gazillionth time today.)
Facebook is of particular interest right now, because while I actually deleted my account at one point - cause I thought it was stupid, basically (For the record - If you’re on Facebook, don’t “Superpoke” me or send me a cyber-anything. I just find it annoying) - I recently started up again, and now I can’t keep myself away from it.
Sure, I guess it’s “connection” of a sort, and clearly I hunger for that.
But as being “connected” goes, could it get much more meaningless?
It’s hard to see how.
Well, I haven’t actually talked to Mark since Lady’s passing on Saturday, but on Tuesday, I slipped a Xmas card under his door, just to let him know I was thinking about him.
I rather speciously connected Lady’s passing to my hernia surgery, as reasons we were both having a less-the-festive holiday season (I worried afterwards that I’d come off as “flip” about his pain - my temporary discomfort and his permanent loss don’t really equate - but hoped he nevertheless appreciated my effort to “connect”).
However much I may not have wanted Lady to die on my watch (Something I worried about constantly), or however awkward I might have felt on Saturday, the “up” side to Lady’s passing, the positive effect on my own life, is that I’ve been much more grateful for Kipper, my faithful feline companion (Who I sometimes refer to as “Tubby MaGuire”. Because he’s so fat) - Who, as if knowing I was writing about him, just roused himself briefly, gave himself a few cleansing licks, and has gone back to sleep on my bed.
...a bed on which there is a new mattress (Well, new to me, anyway); recently, I’d asked Reza (sp?), the building custodian, to let me know if anyone moving out left a mattress.
(I sleep on a futon, and the mattress had gotten so old and thin and filthy - I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know the last time I actually slept with a sheet on the bed - that I’ve seen homeless people with more comfortable, and hygienic, sleeping arrangements.)
So a couple days ago, Reza knocked on my door, asking if I wanted a mattress that was up on the seventh floor (For the record, I live on the first floor).
I hemmed and hawed - “Surgery...pain...don’t know if I’m up for mattress hauling...” - and he said he’d get back to me in a couple days, to see how I felt then (We’ve done this sort of thing in the past - with my previous mattress, as a matter of fact, and my current “entertainment center”- and typically, we’ve hauled whatever-it-was to my apartment together)
So yesterday there was a knock on my door, and sure enough, it was Reza, wondering if I still wanted the mattress.
I hemmed and hawed again - “Surgery...discomfort...still not sure I’m up for mattress hauling...” - so he said he’d have his assistant get it for me, and they’d leave it by my door; if I wanted it, I could take it, and if not, I could throw it out.
And I’m happy to report that, when the mattress was left by my door (And it was fine, by the way; not a futon mattress, but my futon’s never needed to function as a sofa anyway, so who cares?), I was able to bring it into the apartment, put it on the bed, and take the old mattress out to the dumpster, all without undue stress or strain.
(And for the record, there’s a sheet on the bed right now. Though I’m having a little bit of an issue with the aesthetics; the sheet is blue, while my two blankets are brown & beige. But anyway...)
I’ve checked my ISP about a dozen times while writing this entry- Nothing.
My hernia surgery was a week ago Wednesday, and I guess recovery’s going pretty smoothly (Though I was concerned when I felt more “twinge-y” on Wednesday than I had in the day or two previously) - I’m not ready to run any marathons or fight off a ninja attack, but I can perform basic, normal, low-level human activity.
I haven’t yet gone on any long walks or bike rides (And while long walks are mostly just good exercise, long bike rides are pretty crucial in getting to my Weight Watchers gigs), but I’m getting on the bike for the first time since surgery later on today (To go to therapy). And I think that’ll give me a better sense of “where I’m at” at this point.
In any case, since I don’t have anything scheduled till the day after Xmas (A WW meeting in West L.A.), I’m not too worried about it.
I’m sure I’ll be able to do what I need to do when I need to do it.
And on that optimistic note, I think I shall retire to my comfortable new bed...
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