I've become obsessed with my incisions. The drain incision is scabbed over and looks kind of like a satisfying knife wound, like if I had a body to put a bikini in I'd walk around in it and wait for people to ask me what happened, at which point I would tell them I got into it with a shaolin cashier. The other two are still nestled in surgistrips and I am starting to resent them. They were supposed to fall off six days ago but they are clinging to their profession for dear life.

I want to see what's under there first of all and second of all I want to know what a "completely healed" incision looks like so I can look at it and put my swimsuit on. I paid a year in advance at the health club to make sure I would get around to actually going. I spent A LOT of money on stuff like this before I caved to surgery. I bought that stuff, Sensa, you're supposed to sprinkle on your food to make you eat less of it. I bought fat burning supplements. I bought a whole workout tape suite from Beachbody.com complete with rubber exercise bands, a hundred and fifty bucks, thanks, and I hated the workout, it was Tae Bo. I am even suspicious of people who say they do Tae Bo, I don't believe them. Two years of that and you'd be on a diet of aleve, good whiskey and cortisone shots every other week. . I bought special shakes. And I finally thought, seriously, fuq this. I exactly the desperate clueless consumer these salespitches work best on.

Last night at Walgreens ( you wouldn't believe what I was doing at Walgreens, I'll tell you in a minute) I walked past the magazine display and there was a new copy of For Women First up there. For Women First, in case you're not aware, is Satan. Their diet of the week this week was Japanese Probiotics, which are "taking the country by storm", are "better than a diet pil", and are " a secret Japanese women have known for centuries." Now this magazine, I've decided, is actually out to destroy the mental health of American women. First, you get pages of advice about what to eat instead of going to the doctor. You can find the answers to all your problems at the grocery story. Migraines? Try blueberries. Muscle aches? Karo syrup. Blind in one eye? Canned pumpkin, which has more antioxidants than raw fresh pumpkin. Then you get to the Miracle Slimming Secret picturing one previously-fat fictional female aged about 35 in a collage with various arrangements of food, mostly Water crackers and celery and tomato slices or whatever. Then the rest of the magazine is full of recipes that have nothing to do with being healthy or slim or sane.

There absolutely nothing you can do in response to a barrage of sick female foodthinking except of course make an enormous table-sized cake depicting the Battle of Gettysburg. What else, right? I mean this is a magazine FOR FAT WOMEN. IN LINE AT THE GROCERY STORE.

Anyway I was pretty mad at For Women First. But the reason I came to Walgreens was for something really weird. Crayonss. I was so wiped out mentally yesterday I decided what I wanted to do is make mandalas and color. I know that sounds strange but I still get so tired around five PM. I don't have any energy left and it's too early to go to bed and TV is basically just a salesman in my living room. So I went home and made mandalas and colored and talked to various people on the phone who were unlikely to piss me off. I think the third week is going to be the hardest week. Today I'm taking it easy, gonna have some tea, lay off milk and drink some Isopure Green Apples and Bad Decisions Protein Drink.

I've never had a surgery before and I'm not used to recovering from one. It really does sort of blow. Today gets a C. There's going to be a tornado later and I'm going to do Sudoku and color. This is what it probably feels like to be 110.

I am laughing out loud with each of your posts. I love to read this, and hope your recovery is going well.