Musical Chairs

I've lost 4 pounds since the surgery so you know what that means. I'm not taking enough Vicodin. I'm guessing only women and manorexics know how I'm weighing myself. I have to balance on my good leg until the digital numbers display, which takes a few seconds and a lot of concentration. Some people might call this Obsession. Women call it Trying To Fit Into A Size 6 Again.

I spent Sunday in tears. I could not get up out of the only chair that is comfortable, the red one that Evil Axis to the South, Prinny, covets.

It's a whole production with this chair. First I have to ride the scooter up to the left of it, facing towards the back of the chair, lock the scooter in place and dismount with my good leg. I then flop backwards into the chair,which I've set up with a back pillow to catch half the flopping energy. The black cushion with the yellow fringe that sits on the table is where I rest My Bad Foot. I keep my agenda on a stool to the right of another stool I use to alternatively rest my leg. But now it's gotten harder and harder to get back on the scooter. It's all in the arms and the good leg and over time my arms have turned into licorice instead of into sinewy flagpoles. And now the pressure on my good knee is starting to scare me, as in, this knee better stop making the weird cracking-stretching-pinging noise or is that the refrigerator?

All of which led me to sitting in the red chair on Sunday, unable to reach my remote control because that involved lifting myself up and digging it out of the basket of the scooter with my candied arms, and having to sit through Tyler Perry's Diary of a Mad, Black Woman. What a piece of crap. There were church scenes where songs about Jesus were chanted by a gospel choir but I'm betting that if Jesus saw this film he would want his name removed and changed to an Alan Smithee soundtrack.

After two hours of resting my arms I finally got up and tried different chairs. This one has to be dragged out to the middle of the living room to be useful. And my butt eventually slides off it, taking the cushion with it. And I don't have the strength to drag the chair back.

The wooden chairs are comfortable but after 30 minutes my butt turned to stone. So after all of this maneuvering, I gave up, sat on yet one more chair in front of my computer and popped a Vicodin. Now I don't give a shit where I sit and I hope all chairs, stools, scooters and pillows die a vicious death that involves fire, only not in my apartment. Maybe over at Tyler Perry's house.Don't even get me started on the couch.

End of chat.