A Light At The End Of The Tunnel....

It may be possible that this hemorrhoid surgery is NOT going to kill me after all. I'm still popping oxycodone like they're Skittles, but I can sense a slight overall improvement from yesterday.  And my throat, which was really sore for the first few days after the surgery, due to the intubation, has finally gotten better. (My husband said, "It's weird that your throat and your butt both hurt. Like in prison.") 

Hours and hours spent in the bathtub, combined with hours and hours of Olympic telecasts, have given me lots of brain space for more random ramblings....

If my body were a model of the solar system, Uranus would be made out of razor wire and rubbing alcohol.

Great Value sugar-free grape drink is pretty tasty.

My cats are traitors. Neither has given me the time of day all week, since the kids are home and their dish is full.

If I cared a lot more, I would be bothered that my toenail polish needs attention.

If I stopped to think about it, I would realize that I currently cannot bend down and do anything about my toenail polish anyway, so it's lucky I just don't give a flying fig.

 I think I'm going to find that enrolling my son for his senior year in high school is going to be more painful than my tushy is right now.

There must have been a discount on day-glo yellow running shoes.

I don't know if I'm necessarily hallucinating, but I DID think I saw Foghorn Leghorn sitting on a bench in the backyard a few minutes ago.

I always wanted to be Ginger, but I think I'm more the Mary Ann type.

It is taking me approximately three times as long to type this as it should, since I have to backspace so much to cover up that my hands are pretty much not in the right place on the keyboard.

Salads never taste as good at home as they do at a restaurant.

Neither do sandwiches.

Giving my high school student a Mac Book to use for the entire school year, then prying it out of his hands at the end of the school year, was just about the cruelest thing the district could have done to both of us....

Know why Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh are good at beach volleyball? No boobies to get in the way.

The Olympic torch looks like a vacation bible school craft gone wrong.

Time for a soaky bubble bath and a special Skittle, washed down with a little grape drink....