we like tha sun*

Sleeping after this surgery is not easy. I have to be propped up 45 degrees like an enbalmed corpse at an open casket funeral (hands gently folded, expression serene). perhaps, given my condition, that was not the best analogy to use, but, well, it does evoke the position.

However, I did manage to sleep quite well last night, using my unusually gifted kinesthetic sense to contort myself into positions that were only mildly uncomfortable, whilst maintaining the requisite angle. Ah I knew my dance career would be good for something besides knee aches down the road. And I woke up feeling only slightly kinked, and required no percoset to get out of bed.

Pink and Abby helped, by flailing about on the bed in paroxysms of sun worship, waving their legs like upended bugs, attacking each other, squirming to be petted, and otherwise comporting themselves in such an embarrassing and ridiculous manner as to make it impossible to lay about fretting about dying.

The sun's out, i guess that's what all the fuss is about. I think sometimes I have seasonal affective disorder, in that, after a few cloudy days I tend to be even more morose than usual. When the sun comes out, I, like the cats, get irrationally happy for an instant or two.

*rathergood's megahit, paraphrased