Tuesday, August 17, 2010

It's getting bad again...

Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky.

There used to be a time when I would spend a few minutes each day contemplating other aspects of my life. My medical conditions, my family, my frustrations in being unable to work...I don't enjoy wallowing in misery, but I also recognize the fact that my problems won't just go away on their own. They need to be addressed. Instead, all that comes to mind is Becky...again.

This is what happened when her visit was approaching. I was cautiously optimistic, since I'd made plans to meet internet loves before, only to have them turn out to be less than advertised. I don't think my cautiousness showed much in my blog posts. They were all happy-happy, since some part of me was also desperately hopeful. Then my dreams came true. Becky turned out to be as real as advertised, and even more wonderful. I was "crazy-go-nut" in love, and all was well with the universe.

But now it would seem that it's an effort to think past my beloved and get to the stuff I kinda need to do. This afternoon is a perfect example. I use my cell phone as my reminder calender, and an alarm went off to remind me to call my surgeon about my left knee. It's been acting up on and off, and I fear it's going to do what the right knee did. That is, I scheduled surgery for my left arm, the right knee exploded, and by surgery day I was wishing the doc could skip my arm and work on my knee. It doesn't work like that. Different surgeries require different equipment. I would hate to set up my right arm to be worked on, only to have my left knee say, "You fool! You should have scheduled ME to be operated on! Now I will hurt you all the time! Bwahahahaha!"

So I was to call the doctor. The alarm went off. I paused, confused in those moments of just having woken up, and stared at my phone, trying to find the note about WHY the alarm had gone off. And while I'm doing that, I'm reprimanding myself inside my head. Really? Twelve hours of sleep? Is this how you're going to be when you're living with Becky? It's pretty shameful, Rob. And what are you going to do when you have kids? You're going to have to be able to wake up, care for them, watch them, and so on. No more sleeping for half the day. Heck, you might not even get a decent eight hours of sleep. This kind of thing can't keep going like this. That's when I find the note and see that I have to call the doctor.

Oh, but then I see the time and realize Becky will be out of work soon. I should get up and become a bit more functional. Take meds, groom myself even just a little bit, and bring up Skype in case she magically appears and wants to chat.

It turns out that I didn't call the doctor's office until an hour and a half after the time I'd scheduled. Thankfully, I set it early enough that I wouldn't be calling an empty office, even if I was three hours late. But I was late, and it was all Becky's fault!

Okay...Totally not Becky's fault. It was all mine. I have an incurable case of "Becky on the brain."

And this shows in so many of the conversations that have. All I want to do is talk about this phenomenal woman I've met and the wondrous future we're building together. I'm even contributing to "the magic bank account." I believe I mentioned this. Becky has a savings account that yields 400% interest. I started this month, sending her a mere $25 to have it start growing. If I do that each month, we'll have a nice "rainy day fund" in about a year or two.

I told Becky that I'm already grieving for the person who ends up sitting next to me on the bus. Whoever that person is, I'll end up talking their ears off with Becky as the main topic. With my luck, said person will be some seven-year-old who thinks girls are yucky.

So, yeah...I have a severe case of "Becky on the brain." Which I suppose is a lot better than "osteomyellitis on the brain," which tends to become active every time I have a wound on my foot. I think I should blame Becky for all this. I mean, it's totally her fault for being beautiful, and wonderful, and sweet, and kind, and...

Okay, I'll shut up now.

Be well, all.

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