Grasping At Straws

I had a really good hair day today.

That's something.

Actually, no one's talking to me so I had a pretty good day all around. heh.

I went to bed at 8:30 last night and barely made it up this morning, except the cat was being really annoying so I rolled over and started to poke him. poke. poke. poke.

He wrapped his little hands around my arm and bit me.

Which made me laugh at him because all his teeth are broken off and it's like being attacked by a big ... whatever. Something with no teeth.

So, I laughed and poked some more.

And he ran up and over to my head, dug his claws in (just enough to hold me still) and started biting my head. Not an ear or my nose or pulling on my hair, but actually trying to get his mouth open far enough to fit the top my skull into it.

Poor thing. He's not very bright and he just can't win with me, can he? I empathize. I feel his frustration.

It's my little revenge on the rest of the world. We all spend some time not winning and right now, it's my time so he has to suffer as well.

Except that, from his point of view, it's really not suffering at all is it? The universe doesn't poke poke me and then give me cream and cuddle me. Oh no.

Anyways, I made a decision today.

Like, you know, the quotes over there aren't any kind of hint.

The decision was about worth. What's worth it. What isn't. And today, I decided something wasn't. I'm sure you're all smart enough to figure out what that is, but it's going to remain unspoken for a little while longer.

Sometimes. A Moment Of Another Girl.

One. I'm exhausted.
Two. I can never figure out how to leave a comment for her without being a xanga-person because I'm old. And tired.
Three. She's pretty cool. I like her.
Four. There's something on TV about a place I'm going to. So, I'm hiding for an hour and going to bed. Or I might just go to bed.

Longing for: a good, cold night, a turtleneck, a hot cup of coffee held between cold hands, and a thick book I won't reach the end of soon but can lose myself inside of. It's easier to feel this lonely in the winter.

ACK. I Swear To All That Is Holy....

That tomorrow's post WILL NOT BE BROUGHT TO YOU BY MY FACE.

A military story, perhaps? A tale of two sisters?

The Really Creepy Thing Is....

I was sitting outside with the Hissmeister holding court upon my lap and pushing in on the bone on the side where it doesn't poke out very much and there was this sort of squishing grinding sound and now there isn't a lump on the left side anymore.

Of course, then I got all excited and really pushed on the other side where it's so big now it looks like a hive and all I got for that was a couple grating noises like nails on a chalkboard and an even bigger headache (but maybe? a little smaller lump?)

Seriously, I thought they were just trying to get me to go away and quit bugging them about the bones poking out of my face with that cockamamie story.

But, ewwwwwww, it was gross. I'll bet there's a ton of big grown up boys-at-heart out there who love that sort of thing and think I'm lucky I get to shove the bones of my own face around.

Whatever, guys, back away from the computer, go outside and pull some legs offa ants instead. It's really not as neato as it sounds.

Mom Really Wasn't Kidding When She Said "Quit Making that Face or It'll Stay That Way"

So, yeah. Apparantly, my nose IS still crooked and that was a little wishful thinking, there. It's just not as crooked as it WAS.

I was informed this morning that the reason it feels all strange inside my nose is that all the cartilage up there is held together by permanent stitches. The reason it's crooked is because on one side the stitching is apparantly tighter than the other.

Okay, yeah, I'm lucky to be alive and this doctor performed miracles, I love him, don't get me wrong ... but why is my fucking lot in life for nothing to go well from beginning to end? Really? I haven't been banging my face into any more shit for the last three weeks - why won't it just heal like everyone else's face would?

Whatever. Deep breath. Find my happy place.

Next? Hello? Who's next in line please? Hello? Ah, hi there!

The thing poking out on the side of my nose, well both sides really, but one's really bad - I was right - it is bone. The edges of my cheekbones in a couple of the places they were broken, to be exact.

How do we fix this, you ask? Besides surgery in a year when I'm supposed to be gone from this place?

It seems that facial surgery is one of the very few where you can affect the outcome of it for weeks after the surgery.

By this, I mean that I have been told to push the tip of my nose over to the left. A LOT. Like all the time. While also massaging and pushing inward (as hard as I possibly can) on the lumps of bone.

Seriously. I can get that in writing if you want.

I think I may just jam it over and tape the fucking thing down while I sleep with two teeny anvils on my face.

I'll tell you what though. It doesn't hurt so much at the time, but when you stop? For the next three hours it's like a little man with a tiny hammer is trying to crack the rest of the way through your face. Or maybe, it's like a really bad sinus headache. Yeah, that's it. A really big bad MOFO of a sinus headache.

Like my face couldn't possibly already hurt enough at this point. It's starting to catch up with my heart.

But, it was a good day, despite it all, in spite of it all? A better one than I've had for quite a few there.

In other, nicer news - the absolutely gorgeous short haired pixie nurse said, "Here, so I don't have to hurt you I'll show you on my nose *since you and I have the same nose*".

And I didn't even begin to think I could explain why I started to cry.

all the world is
all I am
the black of the blackest ocean
and that tear in your hand

Change is ... Good?

I noticed, just now, that my nose isn't crooked anymore. Probably because it's a three day weekend and I haven't looked at myself since that picture on Friday morning - I mean, really, why torture myself any more? I'm already an expert. And, it's a farm. I get the distinct feeling the cows don't give a shit and the sheep are too worried about their nakedness after the shearing on Friday afternoon to be looking at me.

So, not crooked. Plus, I think the doctor gave me a little bumpy thing. You know? That little bumpy thing on the end of your nose? Dr. Polite Jason told me that it's not a 'masculine' trait but usually females have it. The bump.

Hrm.

How do I explain that? You know how people have ... oh ... I was going to say "a bump on their nose?"... not very helpful, I expect. Okay, going to look for a picture.

Here is my nose last year (left) and on the right is some poor random lady's nose (errr, thanks, lady) Anyways, the camera's not mine - I borrow it every once in a while - it's not like I need a picture every day so you're getting guessing and representation.

Now, if you *could* see my new profile, it actually looks a bit like this random lady BUT if you look where the arrows are pointing then if you were me last year, that's where it would start and if you were that lady you could feel that's where her bump starts. So now, in real life, I can *almost* see (but I CAN feel) the definition where the nose does the little swoop up into the tip. I never had one of those before.



It's kind of exciting. But kind of not. Anyways, forgive the crappiness of my MSPaint ability but here's what a nose is made up of and there's an arrow pointing at where there's something poking out into my face. Which, if you were me, you could see in those other pictures. According to the diagram, if the doctor put new stuff in the same place the old stuff was - then that makes it bone that's poking out of my face. So, you know, not exciting, that bit, not at all.


But, hey! thanks for 'letting' me bore you and wasting time obsessing over my face (which is kind of stupid and something I haven't really been doing but like I said - wasting time) to make me think about something other than dreading tomorrow for long enough that the painkillers are kicking in and I can go to sleep for a while.

Break for a Poem After a Day On the Beach

Once By The Pacific

The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God's last Put out the Light was spoken.

Robert Frost
(1928)

Rant. Retract. Reflect. Repair on the Outside. More Repair on the Inside.

The last few entries have been pulled -not because I take them back but because it makes me totally ill to come in here and see that I've allowed my evil family and a random work bitch to invade my boat.

Like smelly tick-ridden infested pirates defiling my safe sanctuary as we bob along the coast. Causing biliousness in my belly.

And not even sexy, goodlooking male pirates, at that.

Because, you know, this is hard sometimes, lately. And I've kind of only got you and me to talk myself through it. But some things just shouldn't be allowed in here. So, they're gone.

Instead, I give you icky pictures of my face before the final cast came off a few days ago and then today, which makes it 20 days. See? WC Fields. I TOLD YOU.

    
I was trying to get the pictures the same size and all but it ends up sort of distorting them a bit. They insist it'll change a ton (ie: my entire face will slowly UN-swell over the next eight months or so). But the bruising at least is healing faster. It's kind of weird that different spots fade faster than others and some part will be less swollen but the part right next to it's not ready or some such thing - it's like a whole new face every day for months and months. Just not a very pretty one.

Trauma, don'tcha know, it's a bitch.

I guess I didn't really say what exactly happened, did I? That's cause mostly I'm not really sure. And I kind of try not to think about it. The po-liceman who came to visit me (but did not bring flowers, the bastard) says they think that either the airbag cover hit me or the airbag was triggered when it was hit by my face slamming into it. Handy those airbags, aren't they? Anyways, the leg was just a bonus prize cause I'm such a good girl.

In the first one, you can just barely see the stitches hanging off the bottom of my nose - well, maybe only I can. My nose IS kind of crooked - I do not know what the fuck that's about - I'm hoping it's swelling pulling it out of whack since I can't imagine they would make me a new and CROOKED nose just to mix up their day. You can't quite see the lump of bone or whatever that's currently poking out of the right side of my cheekbone / nose but I guess it does look a little more swollen on that side. I'm sure we'll find out what that is on Monday.

We already discussed what would happen if they had to do any follow-up surgery once everything heals and that really burns my ass because they can't do it for a year due to the healing and the scar tissue and blah blah blah. That makes me mad as a cut snake (I'm saving a couple of those, thanks guys!) because in a year I'm supposed to be in Costa Rica, and never coming back. The universe needs to get with my program.

I guess we'll just have to see what I end up looking like in the end. It could be one of those 'hmmm, oh fuck THIS, I look FINE and I'm LEAVING' moments.

So far, I kinda look like me. Only puffy. And yellow. And I can't mostly feel spots here and there, except of course inside my nose where it's designed to drive me insane. So, me ... only ... a little different. And my entire face hurts. All the time. But, you know, he did a good job and I should be very grateful.

And I am, except when - like the last few days - I'm NOT.

As I said before, Jen,also and the post traumatic stress theory? Sad, but true, I think. It's just gotta be weathered. Good days and bad. My official stance though is that IT SUCKS AND I HATE IT. But at least I'm still upright.

The on-call pager last night earned me an extra $75. These 12 days of on-call, even if the pager doesn't go off again - will net me a further $420.

I have regrouped and decided that for a while, I can chant endlessly....it's only 9 more months. I've already been there 9 months. I'm halfway there. It was nothin'. This is paying my debt. This is financing my trip. The satisfaction will come in 9 months. I can wait, I can plot, I can plan. I can think of happier things. I *will* think of happier things.

After all, if billions of people can carry a growing life around in their belly for nine months I guess I can carry this for the same amount of time before purging it from my body in a marathon fit of screaming release.

But, I still don't know what to do about that bitch.

OH Yeah, I Forgot to Tell You

*snort*