My ass has a timer

Chewbacca is whining. Again and again. I'm awaiting surgery in a week so I am taking a break from work. I don't have to get up early. Chewbacca doesn't care.

I'm side sleeping and I tell him, "Be good, I don't feel well," and he whines again. "Please?" 

"Stop! It's 5 am!"

Bathroom time. More pain. Bath. Shower. Twice. I go back to bed in a towel. Mediate the pain away, breathe.

My husband says, "Your ass has a timer". I laugh even though it hurts to giggle and tell him, "I'm stealing that line." It's true. Plus, that's a good line. Don't we all have timers?

Life is short.

My pain heightens. 

Chewbacca whines again. With a moan, I get up gingerly, carefully, slowly (I know I'm overusing the adverbs here but it's purposefully ha!) and pad downstairs with him behind me. 

He needs to go out. Now Frodo wakes up. He sleeps downstairs because with his bad back, he can't climb the stairs. Everyone in this house has issues. 

Bark. Bark. Growl. They fight. Like hobbits in the shire, they wrestle. 

The dogs are unrelenting. I picture the bowl of homemade beans I'll eat later with a tortilla. My diet is bland right now, mostly vegetarian. I love toast with butter. Tea. Steaming hot, one sugar cube. Those treats get me through the day right now.

I'm laying off all the sauces. Hot sauces. Alcohol. 

I make my one cuppa black coffee. It tastes like heaven.