Laminating and Other Joys

After an uneventful day of driving all over the county to deliver ATV trail maps, I came back to the office with one plan: lamination. There is something about laminating things that feels so... Permanent. So successful. When one uses the laminator properly. I formulated a list in my mind of all if the things I could laminate. Many things. Things that never knew they needed to be laminated. In the office we have three laminators. A teeny tiny ID card sized one, a medium regular paper sized one, and a monster map laminator that would take up the entire free corner in my bedroom. I like them all. Unfortunately, my laminating hopes were dashed when I couldn't find the sleeves for the medium sized laminator, I only had one ID card to laminate and nothing on my lamination list justified warming up the giant laminator and wasting 12 inches of plastic on either side of my page. So I have to content my self with writing, since other than taking hours of unnecessary training online, it is the only other thing I can think to do.

It's been a hard week. I've been in a lot of pain, and whether that's because we went traipsing across the world to visit mom and dad last weekend, or because I was grooming on an ATV in the cold wind and whooped out trails ("whoop" is a technical term for a dip-and-swell series of large potholes in a trail, for all you non-OHVers), or because I'm coming off of the depo shot and my body has NO idea what it's supposed to be doing now other than causing agonizing pain, I have no idea. But it sucks.

I think if I keep messing with it enough maybe my body will give up and retreat into early menopause, which I've been told is the only cure for Adnomyosis, short of hysterectomy. Of course menopause brings with it a whole new set of issues, which at present, I don't (and Josh DEFINITELY doesn't) want to deal with. All though I can't imagine the mood swings being any worse than they are now. The thought reduces josh to tears. Poor guy. He's put up with a lot. Of course in my present condition I'd like to imagine I am the one enduring abuse and suffering, but if I assume that I am no more rational now than I was the other night when I contemplated stabbing myself in the ovary to force the doctors to operate on me and figure out what's wrong, then I realize that reality is usually 180 degrees from my perspective at any given moment. So I repeat: poor Josh.

I realize that I really obliterate conciseness when I write. My sentences seem to never end. I would apologize, but I don't really see the point since I have every intention of continuing in my transgression.

I guess since I'm still getting paid right now I should go see if I can find something really big to laminate.

My surgery is 6 days away. Em says I should be basking in the blissful hope that everything will be better after it. I feel like I don't dare to hope for that much, but maybe. Just maybe.

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