I’m not sure exactly what stage of mourning I am in today, but it’s somewhere between, ‘denial’ and ‘cranky pants’.
I fantasize often about buzz saws and sledge hammers being applied to this cast in macabre scenes somewhere in dark dungeons. I can wiggle my foot and ankle around pretty well inside it now which I am sure is due to swiftly atrophying muscles. This makes it seem quite possible to just slip this whole thing off so I can get reacquainted with my right leg. Or maybe put it in a nice warm bath and slather it with my favorite St. Ives Mineral Therapy lotion and tell it bed time stories. Oh, I’ll put it right back on and promise not to walk on it. I just want to SEE it. I think it needs a cuddle. You can’t cuddle this cast, even if it IS purple.
It’s non-cuddleable on every level.
And besides that, it’s getting grubby around the edges. Ick.
Don’t you think it would be a good idea to make casts with hinges, so you could take them off for a while? You know, in really careful ways. Just for the psychological benefit? To let your limb air out? Move it a little bit in therapeutic ways? Give it some sunshine? Soak it in lavender scented warm water? Get your toenails done? Let it see the garden?
(Could we please avoid having to hear too much detail about your fantasy world? It’s too early in the morning.)
I can see where an active imagination would annoy one such as you. Your fantasy life must look like the Gobi desert during a drought.
(Sloppy metaphor.)
Well like you said, it’s early in the morning. What do you expect?
(Brilliance at all times.)
Well, there’s a fantasy right there! See you can do it!
As I was saying...
I am experimenting with different ways to sit that seem more natural to me. I often sit cross legged in normal times. These are not normal times and my tailbone is fed up with too much chair time. I am practicing using the crutches a little more today to get around the house, but woe to you if you want to carry something from one place to another while using crutches. It’s a recipe for disaster.
Before I did the ankle flop face plant on our street 19 days ago, I had NO idea how much stuff I schlepp from one spot in this house to another spot in this house. I should have joined the teamsters union years ago. I’d be retired by now and could hire someone ELSE to schlepp my stuff around the house. It’s a never ending parade of stuff. Laundry, books, Zunes, journals, books, knitting, dog bowls, dog toys, books, phones, peanut butter, yarn, books, languishing unused right shoes, blankets, magazines, dishes, brita water filters, books.... it never ends.
There ARE things to be thankful for.
***
(I hear crickets. Do you hear crickets? I’m sure I hear crickets.)
***
Most of the things I can come up with in the ‘thankful’ department involve variations on the theme entitled, “It Could Be Worse”.
It’s harder to think of more concrete things to be thankful for.
(Give it a shot. I can’t wait to hear this...)
Okay smarty pants, I’m thankful that Hub Man is doing the vacuuming. He does it better than me. Only thing is I usually do it twice a week and now we are down to once. I’m trying to make it last. Though my job would be so much easier without four animals lounging about who are covered in fur.
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I do not want to hear
any more complaints about animals.
YOU invited them to live here.
BUK up and take responsibility
for your decisions Hay Seed.
Sigh.
[album 65561 Little Miss Sunshine.JPG]
If I had a cookie,
I would give you half of it.
But I don’t have a cookie.
Because no one has baked any cookies.
For a LONG TIME.
Anyone notice the total lack of a sympathetic NURTURING element in this post?
I may have to think this over.
I think it’s time to see my therapist.
I’ll get the bath water running.
See you later.
Yours Truly,
The Gimpess In Exile