The Love of the Witten Word …
It took me nearly three days to recover from that ‘1’ day of Solpadol, the side effects were equally as bad as the pain in the cuff itself. Constantly wanting to throw up, and walking around with a throbbing headache for two whole days is simply not fun.
I was convinced the damn things had poisoned me and convinced myself on Thursday/Friday that l would rather the pain than the wooziness, which was a horrifically large mistake. Not taking anything just basically slammed me hard. Today however starting afresh, l have only had ibruprofen and codeine tablets which don’t knock me out and instantly make me an extra for The Walking Dead, but don’t really cut through the pain levels, but l guess we can’t all be winners when we wish to.
Had to be very strict with my tablet taking today, 2 every four hours, just the slightest time window out, and l was looking like a wuss as l simply wanted to cry.
Yesterday l made the foolish error of thinking l could help Suze bring in one of the bags of shopping and BLAM, l was yelping like a puppy that had just been trodden on! Big mistake huge!! To make matters worse, being the donkey ass that l am, not one to be put out by a bit of arm pain, l got up on a stool and started to put the hemp milk away on top of the fridge, but didn’t know that Suze was below me handing some up, when l swung out badly and plop splurgel gurgle splash, one of the cartons hit the floor like a dropped rock and then atypical to that kind of accident, the contents exploded out and what bit of the kicthen they didn’t hit l don’t know.
So l was hushed out of the kitchen!
Suze has taken to querying everything l write, not to the content, just asking whether l am writing too much and this is making the arm hurt more. It’s not, the arm hurts anyway – but she is like an over protective Mother hen. Trying to explain to someone who doesn’t write or even blog, and has no interest in it is quite hard in itself, but when trying to explain why you feel the need to write in the fashion you do is even harder.
“Do you feel obligated to writing?” She asks.
“No, l write because l have something to say. I don’t write because l feel obligated to do so at all. I write because l love to write.” I answer.
Suze doesn’t have any hobbies per se, l have always tried to encourage her to start a blog, but she is more outdoorsy than l am and is convinced she doesn’t have anything worth saying. I tell her she has, and in fact more people should blog, they might be surprised at the results of doing so.
“I don’t like writing, l stare at a screen all day with work, l don’t know how you can stare at a screen all day, and not become effected by it?”
“If you do something you love, it doesn’t feel like work.” I answer.
“But how do you find all this stuff to write, and what happens if people don’t read it?”
“People do read it, l write right across a board of topics, l am never dry for anything to write about.” I amswer “A lot of people enjoy what l have to say.”
Suze wanders off at this point shaking her head and muttering about Asperger’s. As much as l love Suze, she can be hard work at times, no less than she feels about me at times, especially when she wants to kill me due to my frustrating ways … oh the joys of love.
Note to self – try and convince Suze she has something worth saying.
I have spoken to my Father a lot his week, it has been confirmed that he has bowel cancer. He is just awaiting news as to if it is just restricted to there or if it is anywhere else. He tells me he is currently writing a new autobiography, this will be his third. the previous two were not ‘real’ autobiographies in the traditional sense of the word, and he fails to mention certain events in each – says he forgets things, l suggest it may be a case of ‘selective memory?’
He answeres back with a sharp retort ‘Well at least l am published!
“Dad, they are self – published at a printers, you only have 10 copies made and you don’t sell them, you give them away …. to family members.” I point out.
“Your point?” he asks brisquely.
“That is the point, l have published like that myself when l was sending out the trial book for my own autobiography to proof readers.”
“Not the same, l am published.” He answers.
“Very Heath Ledger Dad … l am a knight!”
“Who is he? Was he also a published author then?”
I leave it there, who am l contest this, if he thinks he is a published author then so be it. I told him about the blog, but as much as likes to read, he doesn’t like reading my stuff as l tend to be a bit more honest about him than he is about himself .. and “Besides, blogs aren’t that important Rory, who reads them these days anway?” He chides.
Mosquito’s are driving me insane! They seem to be feasting on me like l am some kind of Mosquito Blood Donor!!! I never used to be affected by their bites, now they just come up in nasty welts and makes it look like l have some strange kind of welt disease! I heard one of the blighters last night, buzzing around my head …“Rory, l am coming to get you!!! Sleep well!! Mawahahazzzzzwahahazzzzwahaha!
Whoever says, “Small is unimportant, needs to spend a night alone with a bloody mosquito!”