Oh no, is she messing with our minds again? Golly, and right after Valentine's Day when all that candy is making me jumpy...

Oh no, is she messing with our minds again? Golly, and right after Valentine’s Day when all that candy is making me jumpy…

Are you confused by the title for the post.

Good! That means I’m not alone.

People. I’m in trouble. I’m not being melodramatic, although I’m very good at that sort of thing. I’m just being honest. I’m in trouble. Plus I think I’m repeating myself.

See here’s the thing.

Two weeks ago, I had my butt surgically removed.

That’s not exactly true. I had alien invaders in and around my butt surgically removed.

Yeah, you! What the heck were you doing setting up shop around my butt? Did I really need a "No Squatters" sign?

Yeah, you! What the heck were you doing setting up shop around my butt? Did I really need a “No Squatters” sign?

I’m told the “procedure” (surgeon-jargon for slash and burn the most sensitive part of your anatomy when you are totally defenseless then send you home the minute you can mumble) went very well. I agreed with that assessment while I was on drugs and/or while sleeping. When I had to move (and not just my bowels), my assessment of the “procedure” wasn’t favorable (patient-jargon for Holy Burning Butt, Batman! What did I let that man do to me and I paid him for it?).

Men! You've got it so easy. You can just, um, self-heal...for hours if you want. We women have to rely on others to take care of matters.

Men! You’ve got it so easy. You can just, um, self-heal…for hours if you want. We women have to rely on others to take care of matters.

Let’s say I was uncomfortable and getting very attached to my narcotics. Then I developed a urinary tract infection that the surgeon’s nurse told me was just common post-surgical urination pain. “Elimination” is a word I decided to eliminate from my life and vocabulary. Every time I did the “E-word,” I was wincing, tapping my feet and hitting myself to distract myself from the butt and crotch pain–kind of like when you have to sit and listen to a really bad, but enthusiastic, Karaoke singer.  Only you may not feel the pain in those exact areas. Or maybe you do. Depends on how bad a singer you’re listening to and if you are married to them or have to work with them.

We've got to let him finish the song, he's paying for the conference.

We’ve got to let him finish the song, he’s paying for the conference.

Anyway. Sometime during my drug/pain/sleep/dopey week, I got a call from a very nice man wanting to help me refinance my mortgage. He asked me all kinds of questions, which I answered–even the ones you’re never supposed to answer unless you know for sure you’re not being scammed. The guy promises to call back with a quote, which he never did. But I bet he called some other places. I got some calls from my credit card people asking me about “suspicious charges.” Some lucky person was getting flowers, novelty gifts and a trip to Las Vegas, complements of me, or someone posing as me.

Who is that woman?

Who is that woman?

Yup, my identity was stolen. At first I was mad at myself. Then, I thought, Serves the jerks right to get my identity. You can have my aching butt, urinary tract infection and my quite likely burgeoning narcotics addiction along with it!

Well, after a week of “recovery” Dr. Butt-Cut said I would feel much better. He lied. I was still bleeding, in horrible pain, feeling like I was peeing sulfuric acid, and cranky because I had to find a new identity.

My first step toward claiming my new identity was getting off the narcotics. Cold turkey. That’s how I did it with the alcohol 19 years ago. Ask Phil, Sunday was not my best day. But I’m clean now, except for Advil and Tylenol.

By the middle of this past week, I had lost 10 pounds. Usually this would be good news. I guess it is good news. I just don’t feel all “Look at my new sleek body, wink, wink” with what’s going on in the southern regions of this new sleek body.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful and wafer thin. I'm sitting in this water to soothe my aching butt. You don't know what we go through to stay so slim...

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful and wafer thin. I’m sitting in this water to soothe my aching butt. You don’t know what we go through to stay so slim…

I finally got the surgical nurse to admit my 12-day painful urination joy ride may not be so normal. I saw my regular doctor, who gave me antibiotics for, and I quote, “a serious UTI.” It’s much better now.

Have you noticed any difference in my blogging activity? Probably not. Plus I’m a judge in the Dragons writing contest and I’ve been trying to promote my book.

Why? Because I’m an idiot.

I basically got myself into a predicament that seemed, well, manageable at the time, but has proven to be, um, unfortunate.

I basically got myself into a predicament that seemed, well, manageable at the time, but has proven to be, um, unfortunate.

All along, I’ve been trying to keep up appearances that everything is fine. But, I’m telling you, People, it hasn’t been fine. Scratch that. It’s been ridonculous.

So now I’m exhausted.

Fun fact: when I get stressed and push myself (which I have), my Chronic Fatigue symptoms flair. I get real tired. But one of the frustrating symptoms of my version of Chronic Fatigue is insomnia. For the past few nights, I haven’t gotten much sleep. Part of it was my butt hurting. But part of it was my brain getting over-stimulated and not shutting down enough for me to relax.

Told you I lost weight.

Told you I lost weight.

So, when I said I’m in trouble, I meant it.

I hope you’ll understand if I lay low for a little while. You won’t see me commenting on your blog posts and I won’t be posting for a bit. I don’t know how long. As long as it takes to recharge my batteries. And to shape a new identity–one where the word “elimination” is part of my lexicon without wincing.

Yeah. No. I never want to see myself doing that in the bathroom again.

Yeah. No. I never want to see myself doing that in the bathroom (or anywhere else) again.