Two Original Breasts

The above title refers to what I ordered last night from Koo Koo Roo. (Another poor chicken bites the dust.) I suppose it also refers to what I have on the front of my body. Original and yet, well, aged, you might say. Mellowed. Original mellowed breasts. As I believe I've mentioned before, I spent much of the sixties exposing these originals on stage. And in other venues. Occasionally in a Volkswagen Van, but that's another story. The thought of doing that now with a mid section that looks somewhat like Frankenstein's neck is horrifying. It's kind of cool, though, to have a scar down your tummy. Think of the stories I could make up. Attacked by a shark...Attacked by a buffalo. Most likely attacked by a herd of chickens trying to kill me for my blatant chicken abuse. I must get back to tofu. There is no guilt in tofu...Is there?

I have always cried in the movies. However, not as much as I cry now due to lack of food. The tears are way over the top and I can't wait to be full and out on the streets so I can stop this foolishness. In the hospital I cried my eyes out after watching Remember the Titans. A football movie! Denzel Washington, black coach in an unfriendly town, black player against white player. And in the end...They win the game together and they all get along. Oh the humanity of it all. I was on the floor, IV and all.

Which reminds me of the two beautiful nurses from Ethiopia who came into my room around 3 a.m. to fix something and I thought I was going mad because I understood part of what they were saying but not all. Sounded like gibberish to me. It was..."She seems okay but ratafaqua cimminitra e sui but I don't think for long." I felt like Elaine in that Seinfeld episode at the Korean manicure place. So I asked if they were speaking English and they laughed and said it was mostly Ethiopian. And they laughed again and left me to watch the end of Titans. They loved Denzel. That I understood.

So last night I made the mistake of watching the last hour of Field of Dreams. Oh my gosh, when Kevin Costner plays catch with his father who is the same age as Kevin I had to be peeled from the couch. And now I'm thinking...This is interesting. The only movies that make me cry are sports movies. A baseball curves it's way out of the ballpark in slow motion and the crowd goes wild and I'm a basket case. So this means I only seems to cry when a ball is present. Wonder what that means? I only cry when a ball is present...Hmmmm. Maybe I shouldn't spend too much time on that one.

I actually got a hair cut today. Why, I don't know, but I felt like I needed to do something just a little bit normal for half an hour. And if you think going out into the world with this damn feeding tube attached to you is not a challenge...Well, I tried on five different pairs of pants and sweatpants and yoga pants until I could find a pair that would hide the tube. Found one with a pocket. Tucked it in. And it was all going swimmingly (Oh, I miss the Y pool. Just one lap, that's all I want.) until after I got shampooed and I was sitting in the chair and somewhere between the sink and the chair the tube had gotten dislodged and was now sticking up between my legs causing my beauty salon robe to rise a few inches from my groin. I looked down and saw this and spent about five minutes trying to push down the tube.

I'm not sure I'll be able to go back to that hairdresser. She's awfully good but I believe she thinks I'm hiding something. I should have told her what was going on but I don't know her that well and it's a very weird thing to tell a stranger.

Tomorrow is my first post op visit to the doctor. Wonder if he'll take out this tube? Wonder if I'll miss it?

Maybe we're in love.