No justice

This has been a very long day. I’ve had to give the Tylenol a miss for a while because my digestive tract was rebelling against the very idea, which made the morning almost unbearable. I didn’t take it last night because I swear, my stomach actually sent me a death threat. “Put down the bottle, or I swear I’m gonna climb up there and throttle you!”

I’ve been on a pretty high dose of Motrin or more recently Tylenol for months now. Going without it for twelve hours was…an interesting experience.

On the downside, I now know that I actually hurt more than I thought I did. Without chemical intervention, I can’t even lie down comfortably. The closest I got to being less than horribly uncomfortable was in the shower. But even that got uncomfortable after a little while, and I had to get out.

At which point I immediately became even more uncomfortable.

No justice.

On the bright side, I now have scientific proof that I wasn’t hallucinating: I do indeed have some kind of problem that needs attention. I feel this is important information – when drugs make symptoms go away, it becomes easy to second-guess your own opinion. And to start losing traction on your determination to pursue treatment.

Well, at least, it does for me. It’s already a monumental effort of willpower to force myself to seek treatment in the first place – if I can think of ten five one good reason not to do it, I’ll skip it. Never make the follow up appointment and just keep on popping Tylenol until the day I drop dead of something totally preventable if I had only gone to the damned doctor.

I finally gave up a couple hours ago, dug deep into my lockbox and found the sad remains of the Vicodin I was prescribed after my surgery, and popped one.

Whew. It still hurts, but at least I can breathe. And for bonus points, my intestines are staying where they belong. I’m pretty sure if I had taken the three Tylenol Arthritis capsules my doctor actually prescribed, there’d be guts all over the dining room right now. And worse, I’d be expected to clean them up.

Because. There is no justice in the world.

Oh, you need more proof? OK. Here is the final nail in the coffin of Justice: I can’t get a good picture of the socks I started last night, when insomnia struck again and I was up at half past Christ-it's-late watching a show about sharks. Because obviously, watching a show about sharks chewing bathers, many of them innocent little children, to bits in New Jersey in 1916 is the perfect night-night story.

Ahem.

Moving on.

The yarn is Lisa Souza’s Sock!, in Joseph’s Coat. Now, looking at this yarn on her website, you’d think it was a bright kaleidoscope of colors (and maybe it would be – these are hand-dyed yarns, so the color will definitely vary) that would make a Not For Manly Men kind of sock.

I’d really love to show the skein I have to you because it has a perfect balance of Manly and Interesting. Not so interesting as to make my brother (the eventual recipient, bless his poor little heart) flee in terror, but interesting enough to make them cool; manly enough to be something he’d wear, without giving me a fit of yawning-my-brains-out boredom while knitting them.

In person, the colors are gorgeous. They’re rich, they’re vibrant, they’re…alive. Mostly navy, with flashes of red, vivid blue, white, dark green and orange.

In photo, they’re ‘eh’. Washed out, run together, and altogether yawn-worthy.

And it’s knitting up…so beautifully. The stitch definition is gorgeous, and the feel is heavenly. Granted, I’m on Vicodin right now – but even so. It has gorgeous sheen and feels like a sock that will give good service, feel soft and warm, and if anybody bothers to really peer at them (which I know normal people don’t really, I mean! Who sits around peering closely at socks?!) (knitters – don’t answer that. We already know we’re an odd bunch of turnips...) the colors really are stunning.

Even more importantly (in my shallow little reality right now), it is taking my mind off the fact that something is going haywire inside of me, and that I suspect I’m in for another round of medical drama – of which I am heartily tired, thank you.

Instead, it’s making me think of Christmas, when my house is going to be ringing with laughter and children running and the smell of a pine tree and prime rib; the usual protests about how nobody can possibly have any, well, maybe just a sliver of pie and good gracious where do I get my coffee?

It’s making me think of the laughter, and the love, and the light. Reminding me that I’m blessed outside of all reason, in good times and bad. For better, for worse; in sickness and in health.

Call me crazy…but I think it’s better than all the drug treatments in the world.