April 7th, 2003

Roman

(no subject)

Small stuff. No stomach ache. Mild headache. Teeth not bad. I hate that I spend so much time writing about what ails me...and yet I want to chronicle it. Keep track. For example, when I have a migraine headache I usually put that in the subject line, so I can look back at the calendar and see if there is any kind of trend.

Work. No frantic emails came in over the weekend. I haven't heard any other results of the job shutdown. It isn't on my head, directly, and that may be why.
Roman

history

I went back to my entries of last October, the first time I underwent bone grafting. I notice I was not feeling well, had various headaches and stomach aches, just as I've been having this time. Maybe my immune system is not working as well, with the mouth invasion. No, maybe it isn't an invasion, just as that which happened to Baghdad wasn't. It's a "raid". My mouth raid.

It seems like my recovery this time is easier. I am having fewer problems overall, using fewer pain killers. I went for a Vicodan last night because of pain and inability to get to sleep, but the pain was more in my legs than in my mouth. And I was looking to the sleep-inducing effects of Vicodan, too. Why people get addicted to sleeping pills.

As I read through the entries back then in October I also realized, not for the first time, that my entries lately have been far less interesting. I haven't been writing about many things that have been going through my mind. Why, I wonder.
Roman

Oh kitty

I wrote a poem in my mind the last two nights, a poem for Stretch. He likes to climb under the covers and snuggle with me, his soft heavy body pushing against me, almost in a "spoon" position, with his head resting on my arm. I thought about how he entered my life, trusted me, how he wears his little collar with what seems like pride, how resilient and responsive he is. So a poem naturally came to me.

I didn't write it down, probably won't. It's okay to wax poetic about a cat, I think, but I really do know that he's in it for himself, that he snuggles with me because he likes it there, he jumps on my lap, lies on my stomach, shows interest because he's a cat and because it feels good to do these things. I also believe he actually likes me, feels affection for me. Rather a child-mom kind of affection, probably.

What I mean is, I don't try to put people thoughts in his cat mind. I enjoy him, feel delighted and honored to have his company, to be so accepted by a very-accepting cat, but I don't for a moment imagine he is having thoughts about me, other than, "when is she going to feed me?" or "she's not so good at letting me out".