let's be honest

I can't do it anymore. I can't pretend this week has been acceptable or good or even okay.

It has totally sucked.

What was I thinking? Having my shoulder manipulated (and by manipulated I mean popped in three different directions by a doctor in order to break free the cement-like bands that had for some unknown reason formed in said shoulder) yes, manipulated just five days before my birthday because you know, class starts a week after my birthday so if I have the cement broken on that day it will surely have time to heal up before class starts, right, and I totally missed the part about how no, it will not be popped on one day and then be feeling great the next or even the next or next or what, how long does this go on for?

And as much as I appreciate the big ole prescription of percocet the doctor sent home with me, it isn't the answer. I'm thinking he wrote the prescription wrong or the pharmacist filled it wrong or something, but I'm still trying to decide whether it's worse to feel the broken cement bands or feel the nausea that accompanies two percocet every four hours. The newly filled prescription he gave me this week after my followup visit says to take one percocet every eight hours. This seems like a different way to take the drug. I'm just sayin.

And yes, mom, percocet does fall in that family of drugs that affect your bowels and thank you for all of the advice about that nightmare.

Okay. That was probably too much information. Sorry. But the honesty is spilling out and if I try to stop it, it might just kill me.

In my usual attempt to find the good in most events, I can say that it's been nice to find myself surrounded by cats on my bed as I try to rest and they try to comfort me. There is nothing quite as soothing as a purring cat snuggled up against you.