TMI, TMH, TLC

don't think about the packing... don't think about the packing... don't think about he packing...

I am simultaneously trying to write about the packing and not think about the packing. No, I'm not talking about packing as in putting things in boxes and moving somewhere, I'm talking about a little strip of medicated paper? cloth? shoved deep in my wound. Right now there's no real physical pain, but a large psychosomatic ache, something like a wound in a phantom limb. But my leg isn't not there.

West Wing has been my primary distraction. Despite some home-care medical events on tomorrow's schedule, I'll be able to sit at my desk at least semi-normally tomorrow. I look forward to it.

I'm thinking about the packing again. It comes out tomorrow. I remember the pain from yesterday's being taken out today.

It's probably bad chi to talk about medical stuff, but it's (almost) all that's been on my mind. Definitely looking forward to this not being a part of my daily thoughts and awareness. The preoccupation has but a barrier between me and the rest of the world, particularly Reagan.

Drawing, too. mmm... drawing...