You can be physically exhausted without being mentally exhausted but it's nearly impossible to be mentally exhausted without feeling like you've just run a marathon with Kirstie Alley on your back.
Cue the music to "Wipeout" 'cause I am wiped out!
My dad almost died on Wednesday. At 10 AM, after his surgery was completed, I got the dreaded "things aren't going well" phone call. The only thing I hate worse than the 10 AM "things aren't going well" phone call is the 2 AM "we have bad news" phone call. Sadly, I've experienced both. But I also know there's a substantial difference between "near-death" and "death" so I didn't give up hope. Besides I knew my dad would want to live just so he could yell at his doctors.
By Thursday night, he wasn't quite out of the woods but he could see the clearing. One minute he was on death's door and the next minute he was sitting up sucking on ice chips. The human body is an amazing thing indeed.
Friday, we piled our nephew and former sister-in-law in the car and headed south to Maryland for a charity golf tournament to raise money for our great-nephew's physical therapy. Drinking with the clan-in-laws was exactly what I needed to distract me from my dad's predicament. Hubby and I wound up playing horseshoes with two of our college-aged nephews so for the next two days I hobbled around with "horseshoe ass." (I dare you to go on WebMD and search for horseshoe ass.) Apparently, if you're right-handed, the left cheek plays a crucial role in the throwing of the horse's shoes. The sonofabitch still hurts 3 three days later! (For the record, nephew Danny and I won both games decisively.)
Saturday, my dad was finally home, but relapsing. My stress level was at Def-Con Charlie once again. Since drinking and socializing seemed to help the day before, we piled a friend in the car and headed north to Princeton, New Jersey to see my pal Bonnie McFarlane headline at Catch A Rising Star. She's hilarious both onstage and off. Plus she bought me a glass of cabernet which makes her the best friend ever.
Sunday was Father's Day and I was kicking myself (although not hard because I still had horseshoe ass) for not flying out to Phoenix to be with my father. Friends of ours-- who live only several blocks away but we rarely see-- invited us over for some good food and even better booze. At 10 PM my dad finally felt good enough to talk to me on the phone. When I hung up, the weight of the previous days came crushing down on me like Kirstie Alley if she's behind you at a buffet.
You know, if I wasn't so exhausted I could come up with something better than two Kirstie Alley similes but I'm as tired as Kirstie Alley after Thanksgiving dinner.