Self-indulgent whining ahead.

I'm home.

I was at work, merrily loading my truck, when I lifted one of my gates and a pike got rammed through my sternum. I cannot wait until the end of the month for this surgery. I'm calling them today and saying it needs to be moved up, I cannot do my job, I cannot function like this. End of story. They can bump someone getting an elective procedure. I don't care.

These days I'm just sick of my body. For fifteen years it has been betraying me and keeping me from doing the one thing in life I really love doing, driving for a living. How many of you actually sing as you start your job? I do. Almost every day I walk out to my truck singing something. Bill Kirchen, Jerry Reed... something appropriate. I do this because I love what I do so much that I look forward to doing it every day. As much as I bitch about it, I honestly love my job.

But now, again, my fucking body has gotten in the way of me doing my job. What's worse, it's added to the burden of my coworkers. Raul has to do a couple of stops in Santa Cruz and then cover my route. Not fair to him. When I have my surgery they'll have to cover my route for a couple of weeks. Not fair then. I'm 43 years old. I should be able to show up to work and do my freaking job on a daily basis without having to worry about my fucking gall bladder!

Extremely frustrated, and tired, and sick of it all. When the hell can I arrange to be uploaded into a nanomachine cloud?

My date with the knife is set.

I'm going in for surgery next Monday. So happy that we were able to move this forward. Currently looking at a night or two in recovery if things go according to plan. Longer if they need to really open me up.