MS Jello Legs. Recuperating is boring.

Yes, I am sick of "recuperating."

I fell. My legs are jello, my arms are weak, my brain is chillaxing (no choice of Diane's), my vision is awful---this just sucks lemons.

Recuperating: Watching TV

Watching TV: Staring at a woman wiping her eyes so that her make-up doesn't run, oh, wait, that is a mother whose daughter has been found dead. I am hooked. The courtroom attorneys, the judge, the information I've learned about computers, all somehow mesmerizing.

Look at her. She knows how her daughter died. I think of my blog friend, Sherry---your baby girl stolen from you...you don't call the police for over a month---GIVE ME A BREAK. Mothers, fathers, they ache when their children ache; they hold their breath when their children are in harm's way.

I'm trying to listen to classical music more. My TV gives it to me, I never knew. I watch Gunsmoke, James Arness just died. sniff. I am pregnant with empathy.

The Republicans are having a debate, ugh, didn't we JUST do this? No, it has been years ago. I was ending my blog, but the excitement of the first woman or African American becoming president, brought me back. I have lived in my assisted living home for 2-1/2 years already!

Sigh. I am tired.

Must we teach our children to write in cursive? Hieroglyphics. Anyone but me know now how to write in shorthand? Remember when that was an ABSOLUTE for a girl? We can't read doctor's scribbles. My own signature is far from unique and changes every day. (Thanks, MS) Time moves on. Soon TVs will be obsolete. "Phone me." "PHONE" me?? No, we say, "Call me."

Time moving is pushing me. I am not ready to move. I like where I am, where I was. Is this recuperation-depression?

So tired.