Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Relief
You'll forgive a cranky, old, injured, imaginary poophead for not writing anything recently. You see, I have been laying here feeling sorry for myself. My family has been wonderful, seeing to my every need no matter how cranky I may become. My employer has assured me that, despite the pathetic economy, my job is safe, and, in fact, it is actually helpful for them to have me on the disability list since it makes their payroll look smaller. The house is not falling apart. And the doctors have assured me that my recovery is proceeding well and that I should be up and walking very soon.
So why am I depressed? Well, quite simply, I cannot pee by myself. Whenever I need to use the facilities, I have to obtain the attention of someone within the house so that they can help me into a wheelchair, follow me to the loo, and help me mount the toidy. Everyone here has been cheerfully helpful, and have never made light of my inability to make it to the bathroom on my own or my having to sit down to urinate.
Today I have decided to write because this situation changed. Earlier, Angela was at the store, Colette was at school, and Luke was in his bedroom on the third floor of the barnhouse. After finishing my tea, I had taken a brief nap, having nothing better to do. When I awoke, naturally, I had to pee. I started to reach for the telephone so that I could use the intercom function to summon Luke, but then, out of impatience and frustration, I decided that I would make my way myself. I have been attending physical therapy regularly, so I can usually briefly stand on my wobbly legs and take a few steps with the help of parallel bars. So today, I hoisted my broken ass out of bed, grabbed my walker, and dragged myself to the rest room where I was able to empty my bladder.
This accomplishment made me feel really good, not so much because I was able to get there myself but because I really had to pee. After briefly resting, I dragged myself back to the bedroom and rewarded myself with another nap.
When Angela got home, she asked me, "What time did Luke come downstairs?"
"He hasn't," I replied.
"Then why is the toilet seat up?" One of the remarkable characteristics of women is the ability to always monitor the state of the toilet seat.
"Because I had to pee," was my response.
"By yourself?"
"By myself."
"Why didn't you ask Luke to help you?"
"I didn't think I could wait that long, and I didn't want to risk peeing on Luke." Angela thought for a moment, then nodded satisfactorily and left to put away her purchases.
So how did I feel? In a word, relieved, no pun intended. Not so much because I was able to accomplish something on my own that had previously required assistance, but because I now knew that I could pee when I wanted to, not when someone was available to help me. I also felt somewhat smug because I was getting my proper indepencence back. After all, even though I am imaginary, I am still a man, and the man is supposed to be in charge, to be king of his castle. He's not supposed to have someone help him pee.
I never realized how important peeing is.
Now that I can pee (okay, I'll stop talking about urination now), I promise to be more regular in indulging my loyal readers with my golden prose. Firstly, I owe you an update as to the events here at the Spanko household. I also should like to deal with some unfinished business with regards to a couple of tales that I began quite some time ago but have never completed. After that, I'll let my imagination carry me where it may.
For now, it is time for another nap, and then I will get to writing, although there is one additional update that I need to provide to you. Whilst my injuries continue to heal, I still cannot feel my butt, which for a spanko, is tragic indeed. But I have a feeling that this, too, shall pass.
So why am I depressed? Well, quite simply, I cannot pee by myself. Whenever I need to use the facilities, I have to obtain the attention of someone within the house so that they can help me into a wheelchair, follow me to the loo, and help me mount the toidy. Everyone here has been cheerfully helpful, and have never made light of my inability to make it to the bathroom on my own or my having to sit down to urinate.
Today I have decided to write because this situation changed. Earlier, Angela was at the store, Colette was at school, and Luke was in his bedroom on the third floor of the barnhouse. After finishing my tea, I had taken a brief nap, having nothing better to do. When I awoke, naturally, I had to pee. I started to reach for the telephone so that I could use the intercom function to summon Luke, but then, out of impatience and frustration, I decided that I would make my way myself. I have been attending physical therapy regularly, so I can usually briefly stand on my wobbly legs and take a few steps with the help of parallel bars. So today, I hoisted my broken ass out of bed, grabbed my walker, and dragged myself to the rest room where I was able to empty my bladder.
This accomplishment made me feel really good, not so much because I was able to get there myself but because I really had to pee. After briefly resting, I dragged myself back to the bedroom and rewarded myself with another nap.
When Angela got home, she asked me, "What time did Luke come downstairs?"
"He hasn't," I replied.
"Then why is the toilet seat up?" One of the remarkable characteristics of women is the ability to always monitor the state of the toilet seat.
"Because I had to pee," was my response.
"By yourself?"
"By myself."
"Why didn't you ask Luke to help you?"
"I didn't think I could wait that long, and I didn't want to risk peeing on Luke." Angela thought for a moment, then nodded satisfactorily and left to put away her purchases.
So how did I feel? In a word, relieved, no pun intended. Not so much because I was able to accomplish something on my own that had previously required assistance, but because I now knew that I could pee when I wanted to, not when someone was available to help me. I also felt somewhat smug because I was getting my proper indepencence back. After all, even though I am imaginary, I am still a man, and the man is supposed to be in charge, to be king of his castle. He's not supposed to have someone help him pee.
I never realized how important peeing is.
Now that I can pee (okay, I'll stop talking about urination now), I promise to be more regular in indulging my loyal readers with my golden prose. Firstly, I owe you an update as to the events here at the Spanko household. I also should like to deal with some unfinished business with regards to a couple of tales that I began quite some time ago but have never completed. After that, I'll let my imagination carry me where it may.
For now, it is time for another nap, and then I will get to writing, although there is one additional update that I need to provide to you. Whilst my injuries continue to heal, I still cannot feel my butt, which for a spanko, is tragic indeed. But I have a feeling that this, too, shall pass.
