Ramblings of a Woken Up Newscoma

I’ve been puttering around working on some new things and work has taken the driver’s seat for awhile. I haven’t been blogging as much. As I dig the blogging thing, this is sort of sad.

Ever since my week of being really sick about a month ago, I’m finding I’m still sort of recovering. A friend told me yesterday that my immunities still might be down from my ednaectomy. I guess that’s a question for Rachel, as my doctors are sort of not being of the helpful.

So, I’m headed to being more healthy. I thought MY actions might be at least something I have control over. So I’m trying to figure out how to do this. (Yeah, I know beer and smokes are not a part of any health regiment, so I’ll have to work on that.) Homer is a relatively healthy person. I realize when I ask her for assistance, she will get all militant, but being that I respect her opinion, I will become her slave. Squirrel Queen is way too militant, but being that she can be the zen momma sometimes, I guess I’ll listen to her as well. Part of what I want to accomplish has to do with digging the temple of me, if that makes any sense.

Next week, my friend freezertroll and I are working on a new project on-line. He and I both will have something new set up by next week. It should be sort of groovy. And yeah, I didn’t have a Lost recap last week but I’m headed downstairs to watch my beloved DVR and see this week’s in a few minutes. I saw last week’s epi, just wasn’t very inspired by any of it except the last three minutes.

I’m trying to veer away from any spoilers until I see it.

How did I wake up this morning, you ask.

Easy. Post-surgical hotflashes.

Oh they are so delightful. I just can’t say enough about them. Feeling like your body is being nuked in a microwave is something I truly never imagined I would ever go through. The sweat dripping like I’m waking up in a tropical rainforest. Just love it. I’ve had one a night since my bout with bronchitis except this past Tuesday. I think the only way I can explain these wonderous acts of my body’s nature to men is to say it’s like putting your boyparts under a hot lamp at a convenience store which is heating up dried, four-hour old chicken for, let’s say, six hours. Actually, I guess that would just be a sunburn, but let’s just say, hot flashes and boypart sunburns are both highly unpleasant.

And the next woman who is cranky to me that is obviously going through the emotional side of menopause and says “Menopause never bothered me” is a liar. I might have to go throw some Little Bunny Foo Foo on their asses.

Ain’t a bit of fun to it, my friends. Not a bit. By the time you dry off from the sweat, change clothes and whatnot you are, indeed, awake. And I’m a young’un compared to other women going through this. Whirlwind of joy, not.

But I did wake up to Aretha Franklin singing on the Blues Brothers, so I got that working for me.