Day 1.5 - Friday is TV purgatory

So I'm back. Why you ask? Because seriously, what the hell else am I going to do with my time? It's Friday night... and I'm sitting in the room i grew up in at my folks house drowning my sorrows in milkshake #2 for the day. The most interesting thing I found to watch was a Bill Moyers special, and I'm far too emboldened with painkillers to consider opening that Pynchon novel I brought with me. OK, so I could have done some better planning, i admit that now. But hindsight being 20-20 and all that.

Yeah, don't remind me. A cold beer and a shot, and a steaming, relaxing drag off the world's longest cigarette are what i need right now. But that's not gonna happen, so I'm left considering some things. I did hope that much of these weeks would be spent in illuminating self-analysis and provide several moments of enlightenment. I'm not sure that this has happened yet, but it's still early, so we'll reserve judgment.

However, so far I have learned a few more lessons:
-) No matter how much you've prepared, you can't possibly be ready for two things: How boring recovery's really are, and how incredibly unprepared you will invariably be for living with your parents again, even if for only a couple of days. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents dearly. They're wonderful, fantastic people. But if my mom suggests for the 8th time that I just "have a piece of that cheesecake, without the crust of course", I might seriously go postal and fling the damned cheesecake across the kitchen

-) In the realm of emotional stability- never underestimate how swelling, pain and excessive physical discomfort can sooth the troubled emotional mind. I had this fucked up month or two, which was spent regularly trying to check my head (apologies to ad-rock) and focus. Now, even if I reach out to think about those things/people that were buggin', the best reaction i can muster is... "eh!". So there's some healing right there. Amen! Hallelujah! and all that jazz.

I wish I had a cool cane now. Like one of those with the duck head handles, or something that turns into a sword. Damn, I could really make a new fashion statement. Monkey face, brash bold cane play. I'd be like Errol Flynn, but uglier, slower and less amusing to watch on film.