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Today, I wore real grownup clothes all day for the first time since I had my surgery December 2.  I don’t think I like them anymore, they’re itchy and stiff and nasty.  My jammies would never treat me like that.

I’m trying to get used to the idea of rejoining the world, getting up at a certain time, going to work and staying until a certain time, eating and drinking and pooping at certain times.  I’m starting to think it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.  My natural rhythm seems to be to go to sleep around 11 or 12, wake up at 3 or 4, putter around until 6 and then sleep until around 8:30 or 9.  Maybe a nap in the afternoon, 2-ish.  I don’t think my employer would be willing to accommodate this, nor have I noticed my colleagues wearing their Dr. Dentons around the water cooler.

Before the big restructuring and my transfer to the district office, I had a bizarrely large office space.  So, I moved a futon in and started napping on my lunch hour.  I started doing it because I was getting used to some new medication, and it was making me sleepy, but I continued doing it as an escape from a poisonous work environment and a screaming, loud-mouthed supervisor.  The value of the nap was not so much in its restorative properties as it was in its escapism.  You can’t follow me into my nap, clown.  Although I did have to start locking my door so she didn’t barge in (without knocking, needless to say), turn on the light, and put files and post-it notes on my desk.  Yes, she actually did that.  I also invested in earplugs so I couldn’t hear her clumping up and down the hall and screaming at the other staff.  They worked a little bit. I miss my former wackjob boss not at all.  No one I work with now is certifiable, so far as I can tell.

I need to get back into a workday rhythm, and in some ways I’m looking forward to it, but in others…well…not so much.  There are some aspects of recovery that have been just awful, i.e. pain, social isolation, gross yucky wound unpleasantness, intrusive procedures and machines.  However, I’ve been able to do some clear thinking (well, once I got off the percocets, that is) and have had no pressure of any kind to do anything for several weeks.  The only times in my life that I’ve ever been off work for a significant length of time were maternity leaves, but then there were pressures and responsibilities.  Right now, I’m not supposed to do – anything.   Except get better.  That’s it.  My only responsibility right now is to me.

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