It's the day before my facelift. Soon I can cross this off my bucket list. Hopefully it will be good for about ten years. I am planning to be off this planet by then. I will be seventy-two and I don't see the point in hanging out much past that.
Old people drive stupid. They shuffle along the crosswalk to Wal-Mart, the grocery store and the pharmacy. I do not want to be like that. Their outings are events for them. They hold up the check-out lines by painstakingly writing a check, engaging the clerk in extended unnecessary banter and they refuse to move before carefully looking over their receipt. Then there are the store go-carts. I don't want to live in the old people warehouse that smells of urine. Nobody wants to visit you there. Just kill me now.
I am too busy to be nervous. I haven't had time to clean. My three dogs have shed enough fur on the floor to create a fourth dog. The plants are thirsty. The outside water tanks need filling. The donkeys, alpacas and llamas need fresh bedding. The peacocks require attention. I hope it doesn't snow while I am out of commission. Who will do the plowing and shoveling? I don't like to let other people use my tractor.
There are seven pages of post operative instructions to review. Prescriptions for pain, vomiting and antibiotics are filled. There will be no chewing. I have stocked up on soup, yogurt and oatmeal. As per Dr. Jess, I haven't had a drink since San Francisco. I feel for pregnant mothers.
No comments:
Post a Comment