Instead of feeling like hunkering down to recuperate, I feel like there is still a ton of things to try to do. I've figured out how to feed the dogs and birds, using my dustpan on a stick. I have yet to find the best way of keeping Toby, happy dog if interior destruction, from practicing his art repetitively. If only he didn't seem so damn happy about his work. Sigh. I have a electric swiffer wetjet that I use as often as I can. Last night, though, I lost my composure for a few minutes. Wondering how much longer I can stand the mess Toby makes and how that compares to his natural life span. If only he knew how hard he was making it.
Made coffee for the first time this morning. Took a couple sips and the stomach said "Enough!' Oh, well, tried. Haven't been able to eat much since surgery. No appetite at all. A never ending thirst seems present, but water is all I really feel like having. Playing catch up. Would love to say I feel great and that I can jump right in to start creating all the images I discovered during anesthesia, but it is not the case. At least for today. I was hoping the normalcy of a routine will help get me out of the pain med-rest-awake-feel pain - rinse repeat cycle. Nope. Off for more Sherlock on my couch. I like is kitchen. Looks like one of those sets designed to be shabby chic but really isn't. Still, the tiles are interesting. Maybe it is the drugs.
Cheers. Off to undo the effects of Toby thinking my hanging trashbag is a pinata. He looks disppointed with only seeds fall all over the floor. Sigh.
What will you make today?