Tuesday, March 21, 2017


I can move water from the bedroom to the kitchen and back because of conveniently placed counters, chairs, tables, and other such things.  Set it down.  Crutch to midpoint.  Pick it up, move it in front of me, set it down, we're back at the beginning.

I can't move a cup of water from the kitchen to the living room unless I'm willing to forget about standing and crutches, and drop to my knees or crawl.

I can't cook.  I can't clean.  I can't ... I can't ... I can't.

I fucking can't.

I can't wash my clothes.  I can shower, but only just.

I had to have a child carry my laptop into this room because I can't.

I've been feeling so god damned useless and helpless, but it's necessary to heal and all that.

And I was at least succeeding in taking care of my injury.


I don't remember what I was getting up to do.  The pain erased any sense of that.  Maybe I didn't even know at the time.  It could have been an impulsive thing.

I got up and took two steps.  One step is fine.  Step, put weight on something else, step, and so forth is how one moves in this condition.

Two steps is very, very bad.

If I'm wearing the air cast, I can put less than half my weight on my left foot.

A second step means I put all of my fucking weight on my left foot. (I wasn't wearing the air cast.)

It's been over half an hour.  Pain still lingers.

I only had one thing to do.  Just take care of the injury.

I just fucked that up.

And it hurts.

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