I forgot my phone at work last night, so if you expected to see any photos from yesterday, forget it!
I tend to forget:
my phone,
umbrellas,
numbers,
song lyrics,
people’s names,
dates,
details about movies I’ve only seen once,
grudges, and
I forget what else.
Stress often increases forgetfulness. I’m forgetting more than usual this week. If you want me to explain why that is, forget it! I’d rather focus on what I wish I could forget, which includes:
past hurts,
past disappointments,
past illnesses,
past surgeries,
cruelty, and
politics, if only for a moment.
But forget it! I can’t control what I forget and what I remember. Right now, I remember talking to my friend Megan yesterday about the ups and downs of life and how we wished we could remember to ride them, like surfers riding waves.
I’m sure there are recent photos I’ve forgotten to include in this blog.
Here’s one!
I forget why I took that. Actually, I think I took it accidentally.
If you want me to come up with a reason for why that photo is a good match for today’s blog, forget it! I have to leave early because I forgot to get an inspection sticker for my car, and if a cop stops me about having an expired sticker, forget it!
I wonder if there’s anything titled “Forget It” on YouTube?
Forget it! There’s too many Forget Its on YouTube! Here’s the first “Forget It” I found:
Here‘s a song I’ll never forget and which I heard yesterday on my way to work:
If you want me to explain why “Love is the Answer” by Todd Rundgren is unforgettable, forget it!
If you leave a comment, I won’t forget it. And I can’t forget to thank all who helped me create today’s post or you — of course! — for remembering to visit, here and now.
Monday evening, after my discomfortingly long surgery earlier that day, the comforting Dr. Mark Estes visited my typically comfortable hospital room to comfortingly talk about my recovery. At one point, he said:
You’ll have quite a bit of discomfort.
I turned, uncomfortably, to say to my visitors, “When a doctor uses the word ‘discomfort’ …”
And Dr. Estes finished my sentence:
It’ll hurt like hell.
How much discomfort do I have right now, as I’m writing this dis/comfort post?
Well, I wouldn’t use the word “hell” to describe my comfort level. However, I wouldn’t use the word “heaven,” either.
Since Monday’s surgery, several comforting people have asked me to rate my pain/discomfort level on a scale of 1 to 7, 8, or 10. While I can’t comfortably remember the upper end of that scale, I feel comfortable telling you that those pain/discomfort scales include faces of people in increasing amounts of discomfort. I usually feel uncomfortable looking at those discomforting faces and trying to assign a number to my own discomfort.
How comfortable are you with discomfort scales like those?
Has my discomfort decreased since Monday?
Yes.
Am I comfortable?
Not yet.
Will my left shoulder — where Dr. Estes implanted a pacemaker/defibrillator — ever feel comfortable again?
I hope so.
Will I feel comfortable returning to work in four days?
Time will tell.
Yesterday, my comforting friend Peggy visited me at home, bringing this Get Well balloon, which could cause different levels of dis/comfort, depending on where you live:
Peggy and I then took a short comforting walk in the beautifully comfortable weather. Along the way, Peggy expressed some discomfort about how pansies don’t seem to have faces the way they used to. In response, I comfortably took these photos:
Are you comforted or discomforted by the faces in those pansies?
I am much more comfortable with that kind of slush than I am with the uncomfortable slush and snow that discomforted Boston for so many months, this year.
Are you comforted or discomforted by the other photos I took yesterday?
Lately, I’ve been very comfortable with the music of Todd Rundgren, especially when he gives comforting answers like these:
Comfortable thanks to Dr. Estes, to Peggy, to flowers and flowering trees (with or without faces), to flavored slush, to welcoming things everywhere, to Michael for the comfort food last night, to Todd Rundgren, and to all my comforting visitors, including you!
You may have noticed that my posts often include what I’ve noticed the day before.
You will notice that this post is no exception.
Yesterday, on my drive to work, I noticed this license plate I had noticed once before in a different part of Boston:
If you’ve noticed my past blog posts, that “AUTO” license plate has appeared — noticeably and obviously — in a previous post, Day 767: Obvious.
I noticed much more, besides that auto license plate, yesterday:
I am wondering what you noticed in those photos. I noticed, among other things, (1) a budding notice of spring on trees and (2) matzo farfel muffins.
Notice how educational my blog is?
Here’s something else I noticed yesterday:
I’ve noticed that looking younger IS an issue (1) in our culture and (2) for several of my older therapy patients.
Soon after I noticed that magazine cover at work, I noticed an inter-office envelope in my mailbox. I noticed this, inside:
I didn’t notice anybody delivering that noticeably delicious gift to my mailbox and I also didn’t notice how long it was sitting in my mailbox before I it noticed yesterday.
Ever notice how people eat chocolate bunnies?
That bunny got noticeably smaller, noticeably quickly.
Can you notice the difference between these two dinner plates, one for me and one for my 17-year-old son Aaron?
My boyfriend Michael has noticed there are some vegetables Aaron doesn’t like and has acted accordingly.
One more image I trusted myself to notice yesterday:
If you wanted somebody to notice you, what might you say?
You — and Todd Rundgren — might get noticed by others if you say “Hello, It’s Me.”
Yesterday, I expected to see the rain, because of the weather report. Not uncommonly around here, the weather report was wrong and, instead, I saw the light.
Yesterday, I forgot my cell phone when I went out into the light to meet my childhood-through-present-day friend Barbara for brunch, so no photos of that wonderful meeting will see the light.
During my time with Barbara yesterday, we talked about many things — from the light to the heavy — including:
memories from our childhood,
medical issues,
coping strategies,
many people we’ve loved over the years, including our parents,
this blog,
how to do better accepting the light of other people’s praise and positive feedback, and
Talking to Barbara for hours yesterday lightened my mood even more.
We both lost track of time and expected to see parking tickets alighting on our cars, but we saw nothing on our cars but light at the end of our enlightening time together.
Yay!
Later, in the light of a local shopping mall, I saw the light of these five things, with my boyfriend Michael:
I realize that in the light of this blog, that looks like six things, not five. Allow me to shed light on that: At the restaurant last night, I turned the table number upside down (which prevented the server with our food to see the light of our location, temporarily).
I shall now enlighten you about why I was playing with that number in the light of the mall restaurant, by sharing the lightness of this joke (which I heard, many years ago, on a Joke Show radio hour of Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion):
Boat rental employee (through megaphone): Boat #99, your time is up! Please bring your boat back to the dock. Other boat rental employee: Ummm, we only have 70 boats to rent here. Boat rental employee: Boat # 66! Are you in trouble?!!!!
Speaking of trouble, I’ve been feeling like my very unusual heart (which is not upside down but backwards) is in trouble lately, and various cardiologist have agreed. I feel lighter, right now, telling you about two dates coming up in May 2015:
Sunday, May 3: I see Todd Rundgren at the Wilbur Theater in Boston, for the first time in my 62 years.
Monday, May 4: I go in for surgery a block away from the Wilbur Theater at Tufts Medical Center, which I hope will allow me to see the light of many more days.
