Today wasn't much of a Sunday, the beautiful weather notwithstanding. I was up most of the night in pain, so neither of us slept. Nick's still not 100% better, and the sleeplessness didn't help. We rested a few hours and now he's napping. I'd have joined him but the pain was so bad that I took a Vicodin and a half, which dulls the pain but makes me antsy. He told me to wake him in an hour but I'm going to wait awhile longer and let him get the sleep he needs.
Laur's at a Met game with our parents (my dad's first baseball game in about 40 years) and Liv just went to meet friends. The day is shot, and I can't even take comfort in productivity -- I haven't done anything to give me a sense of accomplishment. Those things that I do get done on lazy days usually include some work, a work out, laundry and other housework, reading, some errands, and the like but today we haven't even done those. And I'm fighting the Vicodin-induced urge to do things like wash the floors, which don't really need to be done but are an outlet for my antsiness.
The week ahead will be short; we leave Thursday for PEI. Nick's girls and Jon will sleep here Wednesday night so we can leave early the next day for the flight. Monday-Wednesday will be brief and intense, as all short weeks are.
I think I like Percoset better than Vicodin. The percs do less for the pain but also don't leave me all tense and itchy. Vicodin is more effective but at a cost. The first sign that the Vic kicks in is a drowsy dopiness, but that's quickly replaced by this anxiety which is far more physical than emotional. It's a harbinger I suppose of what awaits me after the surgery.
We watched Meet the Press live this morning (highly unusual, we DVR everything) to see how David Gregory and his panel (particularly our favorite -- Rachel Maddow -- would do.) Gregory always disappoints. He drops key issues too quickly but stays too long on others. He raised the death panel rumors but didn't pursue the topic to where it needed to go: an acknowledgement that this is entirely, patently false. Rachel did well as always. No one is smarter or better prepared than she is. Dick Armey came across like the blowhard he is. Tom Daschle was ok but ineffective -- no passion, no fire. And Tom Coburn didn't impress (though I have to admit a going-in bias about him, based not only on his positions but on the fact that during the Ensign/C Street controversy he said that as a doctor his conversations with Ensign were protected by doctor-patient privilege -- he's an OB!) Sorry Dave, you're no Tim.
Nick called his Dad this morning to encourage him to watch MTP; we'll find out later if he did.
I started a new book yesterday: David Wessel's "In Fed We Trust: Ben Bernanke's War on the Great Panic." So far, it's excellent. Very well written and engaging. I've been reading nothing but non-fiction for a while now, but I think it's time to change it up. I need stories. I love stories. The non-fiction books are useful - my knowledge expands and my arguments are better reasoned. But I miss the stories. It's very hard for me to find my next book. I've always been very choosy and snobby about books (anything on a best-seller list or in Oprah's club is an automatic no). But I'll need a few easy-to-read but worthwhile selections for my convalescence. If I can't find them I can always return to my old habit of re-reading my favorites. These include: 1984, Brave New World, all plays written by Eugene O'Neill, Arthur Miller, Tennessee Williams and Edward Albee, the complete Jane Austen, anything that Isaac Bashevis Singer wrote. As far back as I remember these were my most cherished books, and for decades I fell asleep each night reading them. But I dropped that habit a few years ago. May be time to take it back up; they're comforting and I'm anticipating an unquenchable thirst for comfort.
Next time, Percoset.