the price

I've mentioned it before and I'll mention it again: When I get too excited for something, I start to think it probably won't happen. This defense mechanism has been in place for as long as I can remember... sold-out movies, closed restaurants, and no-shows at birthday parties. I'm not complaining about this. I'm certain everyone has seen their fair share of disappointment, and in the grand scheme of things, I'm a bit of an asshole to complain about a canceled bowling trip in 1975 when other people have suffered far, far worse.

But, that's who I am. When I'm excited about something, and it looks like it might really happen, I get super anxious and have even suffered full panic attacks. Once I've regained my composure and realized that, even with the panic attack, the wonderful thing I want to happen is really, really going to happen, I go into full defense and assume something terrible will happen to me or to someone I love, as a form of payment to stabilize the see-saw between good and bad. I'd say I owe a pound of flesh and all that, but I don't know. I'm not comfortable with that reference. I think that's more of a revenge thing, but Courtney Love distorted it. Am I allowed to allude to a pound of flesh if I am thinking of Hole and not Merchant of Venice? You know what? I'm not sure I really understand what any of it means in a metaphorical sense, but the following has always made sense to me in its literal meaning, and it relates not one ducat to what I'm talking about here.

Because you bought them: shall I say to you,
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?
Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds
Be made as soft as yours and let their palates
Be season'd with your food? You will answer
'The slaves are ours:' so do I answer you:
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
Is dearly bought;'tis mine and I will have it.

Our kitchen is almost complete. Secretly, I've been working with the notion that my back surgery is karmic payment for such a wonderful and gorgeous room in the house where I live. But, our contractor/builder/worker/thinker Nate Schrock is doing such a fantastic job, I am now convinced my back surgery isn't enough payment.

cadaver bone, mending nicely

I have some super nice internal bling. There's a strong chance I will have some adjacent segment disease. I overcame a wee infection and some swollen weirdness on my neck. It still hurts like a sonofabitch, but the tingling sensation in my left hand is long gone. The scar isn't nearly as badass as I had hoped it would be. And, according to Dr. Nice, I'm on track for normal recovery. He even suggested I might be able to ski in as soon as a month or so, if I promise to be careful.  

In short, I didn't suffer this back surgery. What I mean is, I kept as positive a spin on it as I could. Groom will disagree vehemently. He has definitely suffered my whiny, bitchy, grumpy, and for the love of all that's holy let me out of the house recovery.

Wait. Is it possible Groom is paying the price for the kitchen?

And, now that I think about it, do I owe him a pound of flesh?