I've Lost Time

I get it.  I know I am using humor to deflect the seriousness of my head injury.  That's how I roll.  For now. 

Let's all look at the interesting side effects of this injury, shall we?  It is 3:06 AM in the morning and I should be sleeping but I can't turn off my brain.  I awoke really mad about 15 minutes ago because I had such a vivid dream.  My dreams have been remarkable and I look forward to sleeping but I can't seem to sleep more than five hours at one time and hardly close my eyes during the day.  I try to nap, but I really can't without the use of drugs.  Before the injury, I could sleep ten hours at night and nap every day for an hour.  Without the use of drugs.

I think differently.  When I was in kindergarten, I learned the days of the week by association with colors and objects.  In my mind, I always see this when I think about time.  Red apple = Monday;  blue balloon = Tuesday;  yellow banana = Wednesday; orange pumpkin = Thursday; green leaf = Friday; Saturday = white block and Sunday = black block.  Note, the weekends were never really discussed, so perhaps this is why I have no colors here.  I don't see the objects instantly any more when I make appointments. This makes me a bit sad and I hope they come back.

I used to be a pretty efficient investigator in my past life, because I would notice certain details and tuck them away in my brain to go back and put on paper.  Of course, I took copious notes, but I could kind of line up the chronology in my mind and tick it off.  I can't picture a calendar now.  It doesn't make sense to me.

I completely blanked on who my ENT was, what she looked like and why I even have an ENT doctor.  While in the waiting room with Nice Nancy for my big emergency, I looked at her and said, "I can't remember what my doctor looks like.  I was here in March, but I don't know why."  Nice Nancy helpfully told me not to think, but this is disturbing to me.

I have watched the Ultimate Tease Dog video at least twenty times and I only remember the part when the dog says, "What was in there?" so I have to watch it again and it is funny all over again.  This isn't funny to me, the part about watching it over and over.  Now I know what my nephew Stuart meant when he would look at me and ask, "What are you saying?", when he was very small and just talking.  He wanted to understand the nuance of a conversation. The Colonel looked at me last night and was serious when he said, "Hon, I think you're losing it.  Stop watching that video." 

I can't have long conversations with small children.  Before the accident, my little friend, Audrey and I would talk, (okay I would talk and she would politely stare at me) about all sorts of interesting things.  What happens to horse hair (the birds use it for nests), what does it mean when you look for a gait in a horse (walk, trot, canter, without lameness) and whether or not Baby Doll can ride a horse efficiently (turns out that Baby Doll doesn't do bareback very well).  I haven't been able to have spontaneous discussions that really translate to me talking to myself for amusement. 

I cry every day.  Mind you, I hardly shed a tear when my Dad died, not because I wasn't sad, but it felt like such a relief;  to me, for my Mom and  more importantly, to my Dad who hadn't really lived due to Dementia for the past few years of his life.  I saw my friend, Monica, at the Plastic Surgeon's office and burst into tears.  I did that stupid wavy in front of my face thing that women think will help them stop crying.  When the Mister told me to sit down and rest, I cried.  I look at Doggus Dorkus with adoration and so want to kiss him, that I cry.  How frickin' stupid is that?  I cry because I can't poop due to the pain pills.  I feel like such a girl, crying like a dope.  I'd love to say it's menopause, but it's not.  It's a head injury.