Why must everyone tell me jokes?!

Here I am, sore and vulnerable... and it seems that all of my friends have become comedians. In the last couple of days, I've received more hilarious email jokes than seems possible.

What's worse is that friends and relatives that claim to love and care for me, now have the ability (during conversations or statements) to make me laugh so hard I'm sure any moment I going to hear the popping of the internal stitches.

I will get even.

Of course I'm just kidding about the getting even part. (Maybe.) It's actually the, "It's-not-really-that-funny-but-after-detecting-anesthesia-in-your-system-the-brain-has-triggered-the-dormant-uncontrollable-laughing-gene." Who knew?

It's a gorgeous fall day, the air is crisp and clean. The breeze sounds "wisp-ier" as more leaves drop from the trees. It's not even close to full peak color yet, and there aren't great amounts of falling leaves yet. In fact most of the leaves dropping now are actually because of the stress on the tress because of the summer drought conditions. But the potential of fall is still everywhere.

I'm doing fairly well. No matter how well prepared you are, the transition between getting settled at home versus the hospital routine is a big one. I'm much more sore now than the first two days but that's to be expected.

Even though I slept in the flat position to ready for my bed at home, it's still lower than the hospital bed. My legs get quite a work out as I put all strain on them to stand and sit. It's one thing I must admit, throughout my numerous surgeries early on, I learned using your legs will keep you of off pain meds as a rule.

What's really funny about that is my choice of footwear. Because of the blood clots in my leg, I had to have those annoying compression on/off things on after surgery. Coming home meant just plain ol' compression hose. They're thigh highs.

To get the full impact, it means I'm wearing these things that are weaved so densely that you can't see the tattoo on my ankle, they're hot as hell and to be quite frank... the time when I actually looked kinda nice in thigh high stockings has come & gone.

But if it keeps me from dying from pulmonary embolus or a stroke, I'll put up with them. Of course, I'm confiscating everyone with cameras before I let them in my house.

I have decided to sleep only in my recliner for the next few nights. While I've been able to get into a comfortable position, once I fall to sleep I tend to turn up onto my side which causes hideous pain.

So the recliner it is for awhile. I think Ludie believes that I now consider him a god of sorts. (You know that cats were worshipped in ancient Egypt, right? Well, they've never forgotten this... that's why they're the way they are.) He thinks this whole, I'm-sitting-here-so-cool-on-top-of-this-pillow-here-just-for-me! Is the coolest thing ever.

I've taken great pleasure in shifting my legs suddenly while he's sleeping. (Get a grip... I don't knock him off or anything... I just wake him up, like he does to me! He has discovered payback can be a bitch when I'm bored) He glares at me and I think he's trying to figure out if I'm doing it on purpose. Silly cat... ancient worship or not... I'm still queen of this house!

Ow! Ow! Ow! Made myself laugh! Time for a nap!