Lighten Up, Hop Scotch

I went to work against the advice of my wife, kids and mother.
I know. You're thinking "What a pioneering, lead-the-way spirit you have." Not, "You're dumber than a loose bag of liverwurst." Or "They should have tranq-darted you and then stuffed you in a closet for three days." I was blessed with a straight-forward surgery, rapid recovery, mostly pain-free. My thanks to God? I was bored with resting (nearly 3 full days after appendectomy) and decided to be antsy. Couldn't be happy with the attention of my family, quiet or the opportunity to be human. No. Wouldn't fall into that trap. So, I sacrificed and only worked a half day, first day back (3 days after surgery).
Found myself dazed, irritable and really wanting to jack slap my co-workers. Some should be jack-slapped, but I wouldn't risk bursting my stitches. My wife would have damaged me more than the surgery for that gaff. I was responsible, carried my load, set the tone, blah-blah-blah and came home like a good soldier. I am lying down after a pain-killer induced nap and wake up with every freaking work detail picking at the back of my mind like a terrier digging for rabbits. I reach for normalcy. I've seen people take days and weeks off work and act like "Oh, I'm sick/recovering/comatose. I'll focus on getting better."

I really tried. I used the normal people words: "boundaries" "rest" "contentment". Worked great. It was a bleeding surfer trying to distract a great white with a blob of tofu.

I caved. I made calls. Gave direction. Issued assignments. Asked for help. From my couch, in my pjs, under the cheetah skin blanket. Yes. I was bad. Broke boundaries, crossed lines, misplaced priorities, lived out of the moment, and did not see the big picture. Every self-help author in America is shaking their smug little face in disappointment.

I just don't give a fat rat's patootie. It's just too bad. They can really plant a wet one on my everloving butt.

Newsflash, oh great, wise ones: it's not natural to be in recovery. It's weird to rest that much. OK, if I had an amputation, I can see a few limitations. But an appendectomy? "You should be off work for 3 days". Yeah, if I'm the great tree licking sloth of Sluggeramia (check Wikepedia). What the deuce! Being still is....annoying. It's worse than walking in the mall on a Saturday afternoon after a Jonas Brothers concert. If I am lying, I am dying.

So, lighten up, Scooter! Give it a rest, Lunch box! Let it loose, Hop Scotch! My inner voice sounds like Andy Rooney in the "Night at the Museum". Old guys are always saying stuff that tears you up, but you feel honored because they gave you a nickname instead of just punching you in the guts.
I going with it. I am going to work while I can. As long as I can. I will rest when I have to. In a few days, it will be back to normal, with a few nifty scars and cool pictures. Yes, pictures. They wouldn't give me my appendix after they removed it. After some fierce haggling on my part, they agreed to take pictures. How often to you get to see your insides without a fierce ninja battle or horrible can-opener accident?
Lighten up, sparky. Don't be a Nancy. Count your blessings and get after it.