Bully! What! What!

Every now and then, you need to give in to the dark side. I am referring to the grumps, as illustrated in my previous post. Getting all of that out, aside from it’s obvious therapeutic value, sets you up for a rosier outlook on the next not-normally-so-rosy day. By comparison, when you allow yourself to grumble at the world about everything, and when you go through a few days of feeling like Betty Crocker shoved a whisk up your nose and stirred your brain around for fun, the following days of feeling only slightly sinusy are so much better by comparison that these ordinarily average days go down as energetically fulfilling. In keeping with the previous framing (to be used with your best Monty Python-esque stodgy old guy voice), the “Harumphs!” are then followed by a day or two of “Bully! What! What!”

Great news on Terry’s friend. Her 5cm brain tumor was successfully removed last Tuesday (not using the same procedure that I went through), and she went home from the hospital on Friday. They are still awaiting the lab pathology, but all indications are that it was benign.  Incredibly wonderful news – Bully! What! What! Everyone continue your spiritually varied versions of thoughts and prayers, as the recovery is just as important!

I finally, finally got to the gym this past Saturday. Although I only did a pared down regimen of a few ab exercises and about 25 minutes on a treadmill, it felt great. I remained energetic for the entire time, but found the need for a power nap in the La-Z-Boy a bit later that afternoon.

I wish I had gotten back to working out sooner, although there always seemed to be some halfway decent excuse to postpone. That, however, has less to do with surgery and recovery than with the simple human act of gym-avoidance. If I can just get my butt out of bed I might actually get back there a few more times this week.

That seems to be one of my biggest obstacles at the moment – getting out of bed in the morning. I think my body has latched on to that concept of allowing myself the ability to stay in bed a little extra in the morning, and my brain has embraced it as a new lifestyle choice. So now comes a bit of psychological re-training, to start getting up at 6am again so Terry won’t have to do all the getting-Jasper-ready-for-school routine every morning.  Do it for the family, brain.

Easter Eve was a “miracle”, according to my son, as we woke up with an inch of wet snow on the ground and covering all of the trees. That pretty much beats anything else we’ve gotten the entire winter. And it was enough to allow him the chance to run around our huge back yard, making tiny snowmen, knocking snow off of bushes, and having a snowball fight with the kids directly behind us. I particularly enjoyed watching him out the window as he would enthusiastically switch from throwing snowballs for our dog to running and belly flopping on the ground in an attempt to slide clear across the yard. He may have made it about a foot or two, but I’m sure the thrill was about the same. The pure happiness of a child in a brand new snow is a feeling we adults all too easily let fade over time.

And this year’s Easter resurrection story is about the rebirth of my goatee. Having been bearded since the surgery, I finally chopped the facial jungles back down to my standard goatee and mustache. It could be viewed as representing an important phase in my recovery. Now that I am feeling so much closer to normal, I am outwardly expressing it by returning to the physical appearance that is closer to “normal” for me. Or maybe that it represents how Easter is the time for the rebirth. Or maybe I gave up my goatee for Lent, and those days are now over.

Spin can be fun, but no matter how I try to frame it, I think it all boils down to the fact that I just wanted to shave.

Bully for me! What! What!