me and my vanishing act

I’m so inconsistent with the OD these past five years. Sad clown.  I’m celebrating my 21st stabaversary tonight! My stabbing, which I’ve faithfully written about several times here o these many years, is twenty one years old today!  My stabbing is old enough to get drunk — which is something I never did myself.  I used to be blabby about the stabbing but in recent years it only comes up in medical situations. Last year one of my students had been stabbed as well so he and I would share gallows humor about being stabbed to the horror of the others in the classroom. Stabby, stab, stab.
Ah, the tatters of my writing career.  I’ve got three possible projects that in 2005 I would have rejected without a second thought. Now beggars can’t be choosers and I’m crossing fingers and toes that one of them works out. B’s been pounding the pavement to make that happen. Ever since he got sober he’s been more proactive about our collaborative work. I correctly diagnosed him with sleep apnea and now he’s got a prescription breathing mask (cpap?) and is able to sleep without suffocating. So that helps a bit as he would fall asleep fifteen minutes into our conversations about work.
Nothing to report new in my ongoing theater of suffering. The disc hernia continues to make life difficult. I had a good couple of weeks but I’m back to feeling crapity.  My foot aches all the time and I’ve got stabbing pains in my calf and glute. I’m getting another MRI in May and if there hasn’t been significant resorption I think I’ll have to call it a day and get the surgery. I’m doing pilates — which is freaking crazy. It always feels like I do all these moves and then nothing happens. I think I’m engaging this phantom pelvic floor that the ladies insist is there. They tell me to imagine squeezing an egg in my pelvic region. I’ve been told that it’s the same muscles that raise the testicles? No, that’s the cremaster (a real thing — look it up). My pelvic floor. They insist I’m doing it correctly but I have no idea. It’s all these super subtle muscle contractions that just feel vague.  It’s like the green tea of exercise in that just like green tea always tastes to me like hot water and nothing else, these exercises are so subtle as to not be perceived by my body.  I certainly never feel like I’ve had any kind of work out. And as if my non-stop pain festival in my back and leg were not enough, my arm — the one I broke 3 years ago — is giving me trouble. The metal plates hurt, the muscles have atrophied, my hand is cold all the time and my forearm is swollen.  So, yeah, I’m probably going to lose my left hand — or if I’m lucky I’ll just have Bob Dole arm. I went to the Ortho about my back and he didn’t even want to look at my arm, "one thing at a time" he said.  I think that means, make a second appointment so we can bill twice. I heart the American Medical System so very, very much.
What other fun facts? This week was spring break so no classes. I ran into a guy I went to school with in Trader Joe’s. Man did he look old! He’s three years older than me, shit. Anyhoo, he talked a crazy streak about the Algebra book he’s writing. Nightmare. He was crazypants in 1998 so the fact that he’s crazypants now is not a shock. I was in a less than charitable mood so I let slip that not only had I never used a single algebraic equation since graduating from High School in 1987, I also have forgotten my multiplication table and could not perform long division to save my life. I rarely use anything beyond addition and even then, I use the calculator on my phone.  I’m not trying to flaunt my ignorance.  I’m not proud of it. I’m just asking what was all the fuss about?  Why did I have to suffer all those years when math clearly wasn’t my thing? 
Alright, I’m going to put an icepack down the back of my PJ’s and crawl into bed.