Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This (she just didn't tell me all the details)

It's 12:49am and I'm back home at the Poderosa. Ahhhh. Wanna hear about my Wednesday? Well, sit down, cause you're gonna.

Actually, my Wednesday started Tuesday night. As you know (or a couple of you, anyway) from reading last night's blog, I seem to have a sprained body, ie, I hurt. Also during the evening, I got a little bit of sprained feelings too, and so I took them both and went to bed about midnight. And the toss-and-turn-o-rama began. "I'll lay on my left side, oh, shit, I can't lay on my left side." "I'll try the right, oh, shit, the right's not gonna work." "How about kinda halfway on the right and half on the stomach, oh shit, forget that, oh, I'm too flat out on my back, it's killing me!" This went on from midnight till almost 2am.

As I was lying there thinking, "I just shouldn't have to put up with this," it suddenly hit me. By damn, I don't have to put up with it. What did they send me home from the hospital with? Oxycodone! And so I climbed out of bed and began my search for the bottle (I only used it twice when I got out of the hospital, so I wasn't even sure I brought it from the folks' house). Finally, I got my hands on it, and took a nice healthy teaspoon full. There was no immediate reaction, but eventually I relaxed and although I don't know if it was that the pain left or I just forgot about it, finally, about 4:30am, I drifted off to sleep.

Oh - except for one thing. A kind of side effect of the Oxy. I itched. It was wild; it started on the bottoms of my feet. Then moved to the tops, then moved to my calves, my thighs, my hips, I could just trace its route right up my body. It ended on my nose, which itched and I scratched it till it actually bled. Even tonight, my nose is blood red as I type. I felt like Mr Carlson on "WKRP in Cincinnati" - I have a monkey on my back!

So, fell asleep at 4:30, and woke back up at 7am. I lay there in bed for awhile, watching "Today," and thinking I'd finally found the spot where I can recline comfortably, and that I was going to blow off work completely and get me some damn rest.

The phone rang. It was Mom.

I made the mistake of telling her how bad I felt, and how bad the night before had been. She tried and tried to get me to come over there and spend the day with her, but I said, ever so politely, no, thanks, but no, I've finally found a spot where I can curl up in bed and be comfortable, and all I want to do is just rest right here.

I hung up. And started back into doze mode.

Within 45 minutes, the doorbell rang.

I got up, in my nightie, no underwear, and hair that looked like a bag of alfalfa sprouts. I answered the door, and there they were, my mom and dad. Both of them. My dad happily announced he had come to pull up the dead daffodils in my yard. My mom didn't announce anything, but she came in with a purpose.

Stunned, I sat down on the couch and mentioned again how I was finally curled up in bed, how tired I was, and how I really didn't want or need anything. My mom started looking for stuff to clean.

I begged her not to. See, it's at this point that I must say again, I truly do love my parents a great deal, and they do things for me above and beyond the call of parental duty. But what is it about parents that make them want to do these things at the totally wrong time?

Finally, I gave in and let Mom do whatever she was doing (it was something in the kitchen), and went and got in the shower (I knew at this point bed was over). When I got out of the shower, I heard the vacuum running. I grabbed some clothes and headed to my bedroom, thinking I could at least linger in the bed while I was sorting the clothes and putting my lenses in and the like. I walked into the bedroom - she'd made the bed! So I pulled on my clothes, and headed out to the living room to find something I could occupy my time with.

I ended up with my bill file. It's been hopelessly out-of-date with old bills I've paid and not shredded and bank statements that need to be filed. I did that while she picked up thing after thing at the Poderosa and I told her to please put it down, that I'd do that later. (I love Mom dearly, but I hate the way she does anything having to do with my clothes and toiletries. No matter how many times I say, "Please don't do that, I'll do it," she's not caught the hint yet.)

Finally my dad came back in from doing Daffodil Duty. I was sure I was safe, at least for the afternoon. It was about noon. I saw them both shuffling around outside, thinking they were just having a smoke, and then - then - in they came into my house with the Shower Shelf.

Mom bought me the Shower Shelf for Christmas. It's just a three-tiered shelf that goes in the corner of your shower, you know, you all have one. I've been carrying it around, in the box, in the back of my car, since Christmas Day. I've not thought a thing about it. I've not missed not having shelves in my shower. Never once when plucking my shampoo off the top of the sliding shower doors have I said, "Dammitall to hell, I need Shower Shelves." Never.

Today, Mom and Dad became convinced I had to have a Shower Shelf and I had to have one now.

When I saw them coming in lugging the box, I began to cry. I sat there, sniffling and feeding old bills into the shredder.

I don't know if the instructions were in a foreign language, I'm sure this is a distinct possibility, but it took my folks approximately 90 minutes to get this Shelf together and in its destination. I heard clangs and bangs, and harsh words, and I questioned what exactly I had done in this world to deserve all this, and finally, I got the word. It was in!

And my parents went home.

At that point, I undressed back into some sweat pants and said, "Adios world, I'm going back to bed." I ate a couple of hummus crackers first, then just as I was heading to bedly paradise, the doorbell rang.

My Mom and Dad. They'd been to the grocery, and thought I needed some eggs. So they bought me some. And they brought them by.

I put the eggs in the fridge, and lay down on the couch instead. I'd been there about 20 minutes. The phone rang. Do you even have to ask?

It was 3:00. And it was also at that point I put my clothes on and went in to work. I figured it was the only way to get any peace and quiet.

And I did, believe it or not. Work wasn't busy, and San, Kath, and I sat and talked and laughed until almost 5pm. When San, who was looking out the window, made an announcement.

"Granny and Paw Alert! Granny and Paw Alert!" They'd come into town. On the premise of checking their mail.

When I got home, there was a message on my answering machine. Mom. Just wanted to know if I was alright. I had pretty much decided against driving all the way to B'burg for band, but that changed my mind. I got in the car and headed out. I half expected them to be in the driveway when I arrived home at 12:30am.

So I suppose the moral to this story is: Even if you have blood squirting from both eye sockets, always just say "I'm fine." It'll save heartache in the end.