Senile and Inept Repose

So yesterday I did a full days work without the help of any sort of prescription drug...oh alright I'm on a fairly ripe cocktail of drugs to prop up my failing brain, what I mean is that for the first time since the surgery I was not pouring painkillers down my neck...as it turns out this may have been a bad idea.

As my last post relayed, I had the day from hell yesterday, however, eventually it was over and I topped it off with a bath which was quite marvellous. My barbiturate free day did not continue. After my bath I settled down to watch some completely forgettable crap... on Netflix I think. But little did I realise that my overly excited day had left my brain in a state of agitation.

I am one of those annoying people who get at least 8 hours dreamless...apart from Keith and Dafydd of course...sleep, that doesn't look quite right, should I have used comma's, mind you, see what I've done there, with the link, I am after all an IT professional...what the fuck was I talking about...right dreamless sleep. Apart from the first couple of nights after the operation I have slept the sleep of the just, every night, helped of course by copious quantities of prescription painkiller.

Yesterday I proudly proclaimed to anyone who was listening that I didn't need any more pain killers as the foot didn't hurt any more...it doesn't, not really. So I eschewed my nightly dose of morphine and opted for Netflix instead.

My brain had spent all day excitedly trying to fix IT problems that it was not really designed for, it had also got quite excited about the blog post I wrote. All in all my brain was on roll and not ready to give up and slip into the arms of Morpheus. My body on the other hand was complaining vociferously, it wanted it's eight hours of uninterrupted slumber and it wanted it now. My foot was also very keen to join the party and started to make it's presence felt in no uncertain terms. Now I can't quite explain this but I'll try with the aid of a picture or maybe two. They...and by they, I mean the NHS...have done some quite unnecessary things to my foot which I will demonstrate with this visual aid.
As you may be able to see, the tops of, what I laughingly like to refer to as my toes, are a little tender and they have been encased in a cast. After three weeks they no longer really hurt but they rub on the dressing and then they sort of...er...shout at me, it's like a mixture of pins and needles and...and ...I give up, I can't fucking explain it. Suffice it to say that it annoys me exceedingly and last night it refused to let me go to sleep, or that may have been the over excited brain. I am losing the thread here somewhat. That picture is right in my eyeline and it's unnerving me, Lord knows what it's doing to you.

Anyhow to cut an extremely tedious story short, my body in conjunction with my foot persuaded my brain that what it needed was a dose of morphine. I gave in and administered said opiate...which did absolutely nothing...I mean fuck all. I just lay in bed re-reading Facebook and waiting for sleep. For God's sake I have to get up and start work at six thirty. At one in the morning I sent an email to work asking them not to call me in the morning as I may not be completely compos mentis. At two o'clock I gave in and went into the kitchen and made tea and toast...oh yes, I have moved to the tea and toast making phase...mind you it's fucking difficult to carry said tea and toast whilst on crutches.

I think I finally fell into a 'senile and inept repose' at about 3 or may be 4 in the morning. However my brain was having none of that, it promptly woke me up at seven in the morning and refused to let me sleep any more, not even a cat nap, which may account for the incoherence of this missive.

Anyhow enjoy

Night night 

Charlie

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