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Before my short term disability starts, I have some lingering work projects to tie up. I sit on the couch, legs crossed, right arm raised above my heart thanks to quilts and pillows, it’s as though my cast is The Princess and the Pea. Typos are so prevalent and painkillers coursing through my bloodstream I look back at a sentence and have no idea what I wrote and was trying to convey.
I was supposed to get a manicure last Saturday, it was already over two weeks and my nails were uncomfortably long. But Sunday Karl and his friend were going to have a playdate with their kids so I could go to the nail salon without guilt. Instead I spent Sunday in the hospital. By this weekend my left hand so awkward and my nails so long I could hardly type in my phone’s password let alone type a paragraph for work.
So yesterday my sister took me to the nail salon. I got a pedicure since I can’t even clip my own toenails, sat with a bowl of acetone in my lap, soaking off my right acrylic tips hoping to not get any of the liquid on my cast and trying not to get a stiff neck from the crazy position. Had the right hand trimmed very short, the left hand got an acrylic fill but also short so I can type again. This manicure was one of the most exhausting and uncomfortable things I have done in a long while; the technician had to stand and squat and bend over her table to care for my right fingers and though she was careful, my fingers got a workout and I had to come home, take two painkillers and nap for three hours.
I keep getting great ideas for blog posts but by time I get to a computer the thoughts have dissolved into Percocet. However I did procrastinate last night and finish a capsule for an Ask Allie post I’m working on. But when I type too excitedly I accidently press something and lose a paragraph or print the page. My Artist’s Way journal mocks me from my bedside table.
None of my coats or sweaters fit over my cast. Karl has to help me put on and take off my bra, and I live in yoga pants because I can’t maneuver a zipper or buttons. This morning I zipped Emerson’s coat using my teeth which grossed her out. I have no appetite, in just one week my wedding rings fit more comfortably. Been careful so no constipation from the drugs but nature decided to gift me with an early period. All I want is to take a long shower but I can’t even bathe without a lot of rigmarole, planning, and others in attendance.
Filling out my short term disability forms, the doc said this will likely be my life for 10-12 weeks. It could be worse, I know. Thank my lucky stars it wasn’t both arms, or my face, or my back. Did you hear my neighbor’s aunt’s boyfriend’s sister fell the same night and is in a coma??? I know, it could be so much worse. I whine as I have family drive me to get manicures, I lie on a leather couch and eat a bomb-ass salad my husband made me, surrounded by flowers from well-wishers. I made the decision long ago to not be a full-time blogger and now enjoy PTO and short term disability and brilliant kind coworkers who can pick up my slack and we can still pay the bills while I boo hoo and online shop for kimono tops and pull-on pants. In the words of 1993 Karl Gary, quit bibbin’.
Like that damn Passenger song they play every five minutes on the radio, only miss the sun when it starts to snow, only know you love her when you let her go… I only realized how much I think with my hands, be it by pen or keyboard until I can’t do either.