Trust me: You're just not funny on Vicodin

So I had surgery the other week, and I have to admit, recovery hasn't been what I had in mind. Although I told everyone that I fully expected to just lie around and take it easy, that isn't really what I thought would happen.

I kind of saw myself as Carol Brady, you know, the mom of the Brady bunch, in that episode where she was sick and had a little bell beside her bed and the kids had to wait on her hand and foot while she watched TV and recovered from her half-hour illness.

Then, I figured, after I ate enough bon-bons and watched enough Food Network, I'd scurry down to the computer and do a little writing. After all,, I'm THISCLOSE to finishing "Mom Tales," I really want to finish the sequel to Death on Deadline this summer and I have a really fun new idea for a murder mystery. Well, "fun" except for the murder part - you know what I mean.

Except it isn't working out that way. Because:

1. Outpatient surgery is a misnomer. I don't feel like Carol Brady. I feel more like Tom, as in Tom and Jerry, when Tom has been run over by a truck several times. To handle some significant pain, the nice doctor gave me painkillers and they're pretty strong - similar to Vicodin, she said.

2. "Mom Tales," is a humorous collection of essays on parenting. And trust me - you're just not funny on Vicodin. You might think you have a humorous idea for an essay, but .... really, it's Not. Funny. At. All. So there hasn't been much writing. There's been a lot of sleeping, though.

Luckily, time heals all, they say, and I'm tapering off on the meds. But before I get too healthy, I still need those bon-bons and the little bell.