(Warning: this is a surgery blog. I've tried to stay away from them, but I'm running out of other things in my life to write about.)

Slippage

Well, I got slapped around yesterday. Twice.

Once was by my own mother. Then K, my co-worker, joined in.

See, I've got this problem. Slippage, I guess it could be called. Slippage of the "slipping back into old weird stuff I thought my brain had stopped doing but apparently since I wasn't thinking about and/or worrying about it anymore it sneaked up on me and has started doing it all over again" variety.

See, I seem to have settled back down into my boring rut of a life now, the only change being that (hopefully) every few weeks I lose a couple of pounds. It's not falling off me, as I was assured would happen by very many people. It's more, well ... meandering off me. Therefore, I don't see it happening.

But what's more, a strange and weird thing is happening. And I don't mean strange and weird as in Rudolph running away and sprouting antlers and suddenly discovering he's a full-fledged red-nosed adult. I mean strange and weird as in I may be starting to hate myself again.

I decided before I had surgery that I was going to take my picture the day before, then take it again every three months. So pictures April 4, then pictures July 4, and this week it was pictures October 4. I took a set, front and side. I hated them so much I took another set later in the day. I hated those so much I took a third set the next morning. And I hated those so much I realized things were never going to make me happy and I stopped taking pictures.

I just couldn't tell a difference. I saw the same thing on October 4 I was seeing on April 4. And I made the fatal mistake of mentioning it out loud.

My mom had taken some pictures from their heady foray to Oktoberfest last weekend, and, being of the undigitally inclined, had to have the film developed. (remember film?) She brought the pictures by the office yesterday, of Oktoberfest and some she'd taken on October 4.

Only she slipped me a mickey of sorts. She included a couple of pre-surgery pictures in the stack. Just to "show" me the difference.

I still wasn't seeing it.

So by then K, who had gotten into the act, started on me. "How can you not see a difference?!" she was ranting. Then my mom chimed in as well, ending her rant with a pantomime of slapping me about the head and shoulders repeatedly. She got perilously close to my face, too. I don't know if that was intended or not.

The sad part though is that it didn't really help. Maybe I'm just still looking at the world with really fat eyes.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Yesterday I went to Kroger (the one that's going out of business) to buy some wine so I could practice drinking. (Yes, I need to practice to see what it might do to me now.) I took my wine up to the counter to pay and the lady (remember, they have the rudest staff in town) yanked it away from me and told me they wouldn't sell it to me. Apparently the ABC has already taken their liquor license away. I wanted to ask why in the holy fuck it was still on the shelves, but I didn't. I also wanted to ask, since she'd so curtly told me she couldn't sell it to me, if she'd consider giving it to me as a goodwill gesture. But somehow I think the remark wouldn't have taken well with her.
* The Betland Security Alert is back up to Orange. Hinky. Are you surprised?