I am a complete social moron these days. Twelve days in solitary and I've turned into that person. The one who says the same thing every time you see her for two reasons: 1. because she's forgotten that she's already said the same thing to you, and 2. because it's the only thing she's really got to say. When someone walks in the room and says, "How are you doing today? How are you eating?" I reply, "I'm doing pretty well. Eating rather well; building my strength now before the next bomb drops and I can't eat for another two days."
But here's the thing: I only see about 4 different humans every day, and most days, 3 of them are the same ones I saw yesterday and the day before. So when my poor wonderful nurse of 4 days asks me how I'm doing and how I'm eating on Day 4, I am giving her the same "punchline" every damn day. Bless her heart for not pre-empting me with, "Right. Eating well. Building your strength. Got it. Now shut your cakehole."
I need some new material.
Before this all started, my doctor told me the two primary side effects of this procedure would be "diarrhea and boredom." I laughed hysterically at the time. But now I'm here and the laughing has stopped. Y'all. The two (three?) most important joys of my life are a)my friends and family, and b) food. The two things I am pretty much denied for a full year? Friends and family and food. The mental challenge for me isn't worrying if I might die or if I'll lose some hair or whatnot, believe it or not. It's just getting myself okay with the fact that this is a type of (completely necessary, albeit) culinary and social house arrest. In practical terms, it's very difficult to fathom that I simply won't see my friends for a year, no one can visit my house for a year, and that I can't eat in a restaurant or order takeout for a year. And yet, when I write it out in words, it sounds so petty and stupid to be all "No social life! No moo shu pork!" And yet YET, it still bites on a daily, consistent basis.
So boo hoo poor me. ;)
Really what I'm bellyaching about is the fact that I now think I'm a bore. Perhaps I always have been, but boy the realization that you have nothing to say, nothing new to add, and absolutely no prospects for getting any new stuff soon is a frigid bucket of ice down the conversational pants.
That said, I'm doing okay. You know, eating well. Building my strength now before....