Dear Diary, March 30th, 2017

Dear Diary: it’s been 1,389 days since transplant surgery. I thought last week was bad. This week has shown that last week was pretty damn good and that this week is the bad one. Where do I even begin?

One: Well I went to the pain clinic today. The doctors at the pain clinic continue to prove that they are the doctors that suck at doctoring, so they send them to the pain clinic to make people suffer. They really should call it the “Painful Clinic,” because really that is what they are dishing out at this place. As usual, I meet with some random resident for 45 minutes, because Dr. Frankenstein is too busy to get the information from me herself. And they remind me to be patient. I’ve only been treated by them for 5 months and they’ve only been making me feel worse for, well, 5 months. So stop being a douche, Darcy, and be patient. 3 days a week in bed is perfectly acceptable as long as I am patient while I am doing it. I received a minute dose of a drug I have already taken before that’s designed for headaches. That’s the solution for me being in bed 25% of the time now. Headache pills. Oh, and come back in 7 weeks and let us know if that is helping. So, if it’s not helping, I have to wait 7 weeks to find out what they will do next. Does this seem ridiculous, or am I just drunk? Perhaps both?

Two: Report Card Week. Awesome. Time to meet with the teacher to find out what is going on now. Today’s report cards are written in hieroglyphics and any grade over 45% means you get a “Great Job” and a sticker. Apparently failing is o.k. as long as you try hard at it. It makes me want to pluck my eyes out. Being a step parent when it comes to education issues is not a fun place to be. You have no say when it comes down to it, because legally you have as much parenting rights as the cat does. Also, you are normally in direct opposition to the other household based simply on your existence. And, spending all your spare time in life dealing with the issues of a child that does not belong to you feels about the same as chasing around someone else’s dog your whole life and then watching the dog’s family be so excited about its return. The child doesn’t belong to you, has no relation to you, and you will never get any credit or respect for the hours you spend dealing with the educational issues of someone else’s offspring.

Three: I need a job. Or something to study in school. I’m so freaking bored and I have nothing to do with my time outside working on #2’s report card and condo cleanliness. Of course, the fact that #1 clearly will not be addressed anytime soon, however, means that a job, a hobby, or a free job isn’t realistic, unless I can do it in bed. And, sadly, the fun bedtime jobs require that you not be really sore and immobile. School would be fun, although I’m getting much too old to fit in with kids in school and would likely be lonely out there in a land where 22 year old kids are partying and having fun in a program I am desperately using to try not to die of boredom.

Until next week, diary. Maybe I’ll get to leave bed at some point and do something fun!