Monday, March 20, 2023
I slept like a log last night. I got in bed about 8:30 p.m., intending to read, but before even an hour had passed I had to give up because I kept losing focus -- and I slept all the way through the night, which is unusual because Olga usually wakes me up at least once. I feel like I slept forever but I guess it was only eight hours. Still, it felt great.
Maybe I'm coming down from all the stress of last week. Please, God, let this week be more normal.
Dave had his colonoscopy yesterday. The photos show the elevator lobby on the lower ground floor of the Royal Free Hospital. I love how they've tried to make it look like a Caribbean idyll. "You're not in the hospital, you're in...the Bahamas!"
His procedure went fine. Meanwhile, I read a book and walked the streets near the hospital, looking for photo opportunities. I suppose I didn't really need to be there at all except to bring him home because he'd been given sedatives. And then, when the time came for me to fulfill my role, I couldn't get the Uber app on my phone to work and he had to call his own Uber anyway. Some escort I turned out to be!
The first thing he did upon getting home was dig into a bag of Doritos and a can of cheese dip. Ugh.
The nurse said Dave's colonoscopy was clear and showed no inflammation from his Crohn's, so that's good. We haven't determined the cause of his hand tremor, which is the reason he had the procedure -- on his neurologist's theory that his Crohn's was acting up and causing his hands to shake. But apparently not. It may be an unsolvable mystery, and in any case the tremors have been better lately.
I'm reading "The Last Confessions of Sylvia P." It's a novel by Lee Kravetz based on Sylvia Plath, and it's good. It reminds me of "The Hours," with a structure that switches between three voices and three time periods. Why is Sylvia Plath an object of such endless fascination? I was fascinated with her too when I was younger, reading her biography and "The Bell Jar" and all her collected poems. I suppose it's the drama, the outward appearance of having so much while being so inwardly tormented. I find all that pathos rather exhausting now, but she still qualifies as one of my favorite poets -- or at least the one whose work I know best. The relative accessibility of her poems counts in her favor, too.
I found 36 comments in my Blogger spam folder this morning, going all the way back to the beginning of my blog. They were all one- or two-word comments. Apparently brevity is now among the criteria for Blogger to pull comments as spam. It took a while to republish them all. Argh!