Being Dependent Sucks
This whole "being dependent on Phil to get me anything that can't be carried in a bag" (since I'm on crutches and don't have a hand free to hold stuff) and "Phil has to do all the cleaning" thing is getting old. He's frustrated because he doesn't really want to cook and doesn't really know how to cook the CSA stuff. He's decidedly cranky about the amount of stuff that just isn't getting done and the number of requests I have. And I am cranky that he gets annoyed and says he's not going to get me something rightthenwhenIwantitnow! That said, I'm very grateful that he's here and taking care of me and generally being patient and supportive. Hopefully this Friday the doctor will say I can go to a cane and a knee brace, which will at least make me capable of doing some stuff.
This morning's a case in point. I wake up when his alarm goes off, and, er, nature's urgent call means I can't just wait until he's gone to trek upstairs and take care of things. Plus he usually snoozes the alarm for a half hour anyway. I go upstairs, and since I'm up and it's early and I don't want to have to do this again, I go through the whole nine yards: getting a clothes I can wear; unstrapping the knee brace; waterproofing my incisions (saran wrap + waterproof tape); showering; reapplying bandages; strapping on the knee brace; and brushing teeth. This process delays Phil enough that he has to rush out the door in the morning, which means he doesn't have time to make me cereal. And the poor SOB still has to return a library book and pick up pain pills for me on his way home. Not to mention Mt. Washmore in the kitchen.
Then, of course, I fell back asleep, on and off, until 1 PM. I wake up, strap on the knee brace to trek up the stairs to freshen up, take pain pills, make myself a lunch that I can carry in a bag (toasted asiago bagel with a little cheddar cheese--yum!), eat, strap on the knee brace to move the chair closer for my knee stretches, do my knee stretches (owieeee!), strap on the knee brace to get ice, ice my knee, strap on the knee brace to return the ice to the freezer--and it's 3 PM.
I need to figure out how to reprogram myself to think not, "I should remember this for XYZ," but, "I should write this down." All I can remember of the awesome dream I had this morning is that something was eating a cave full of people, but first it dipped the edges of the cave in something that stood in for margarita salt, and I thought it was hilarious. See? Not useful. And a couple of days ago, in the shower, I had a great idea for a Twitter-length short story, and I have no idea what it was now. Corollary: I need to keep pen and paper within reaching distance in the shower. I've had so many great and now-faded ideas in there.
This morning's a case in point. I wake up when his alarm goes off, and, er, nature's urgent call means I can't just wait until he's gone to trek upstairs and take care of things. Plus he usually snoozes the alarm for a half hour anyway. I go upstairs, and since I'm up and it's early and I don't want to have to do this again, I go through the whole nine yards: getting a clothes I can wear; unstrapping the knee brace; waterproofing my incisions (saran wrap + waterproof tape); showering; reapplying bandages; strapping on the knee brace; and brushing teeth. This process delays Phil enough that he has to rush out the door in the morning, which means he doesn't have time to make me cereal. And the poor SOB still has to return a library book and pick up pain pills for me on his way home. Not to mention Mt. Washmore in the kitchen.
Then, of course, I fell back asleep, on and off, until 1 PM. I wake up, strap on the knee brace to trek up the stairs to freshen up, take pain pills, make myself a lunch that I can carry in a bag (toasted asiago bagel with a little cheddar cheese--yum!), eat, strap on the knee brace to move the chair closer for my knee stretches, do my knee stretches (owieeee!), strap on the knee brace to get ice, ice my knee, strap on the knee brace to return the ice to the freezer--and it's 3 PM.
I need to figure out how to reprogram myself to think not, "I should remember this for XYZ," but, "I should write this down." All I can remember of the awesome dream I had this morning is that something was eating a cave full of people, but first it dipped the edges of the cave in something that stood in for margarita salt, and I thought it was hilarious. See? Not useful. And a couple of days ago, in the shower, I had a great idea for a Twitter-length short story, and I have no idea what it was now. Corollary: I need to keep pen and paper within reaching distance in the shower. I've had so many great and now-faded ideas in there.