Cake is a Despot

I ALMOST didn’t get out of bed for morning walkies today. I woke and it was goddamn chilly in the house. It was the kind of morning where pulling the covers up over my head and going back to Sleepy-time Land makes the best sense. Fer fucks sake, my phone told me it was 52 measly fucking degrees out. (Yes, in January 52º will feel like beach weather. It's September...shut up!)

Did I text Jen to bag on walkies though? No but I bought myself 15 more minutes of warmth. My dear Cake then allowed that I had vicious morning breath—there would be NO cuddles until I hauled my ass into the rain room to brush my damn teeth.

I tell you, the cat’s a tyrant. I mean, just look at him—doesn't his visage simply reek of oppressive taskmasterness? Wut? No?

Anyway, once up and moving, there was no longer an insurmountable gap between morning hygiene crap and putting pants on (LONG pants!). The trick was ginning up the will, the bravery to toss off the covers. Having a harsh, bullying beastie making draconian demands at 6AM is also highly motivational. Just FYI and shit.

Now that I’m off the blood thinners, I’m able to take ibuprofen again. This means that my pain is less and, once I get up outta bed, I can do more. YEA! Yesterday I walked a smidge over half a mile. That sure as hell doesn’t sound like much BUT the majority of it was done withOUT the walker! So far today, I’ve done three eighths of a mile with walker but it’s still early AND a gorgeous day. After it warms up (and I can doff my jacket and put shorts on), I’ll stroll more (sans rollator).

Taking the intense, if fitful, back and chest pain out of this seemingly endless rehab equation, is promising a mondo awesome increase in progress.