Still not king.
Not running any marathons, either.
Tomorrow, I have an appointment to get the pins out of my toes (yes, those are metal pins, with cheery yellow heads that have been inserted into my toes, and tomorrow they will be drawn.), which I’m both looking forward to and dreading, as you might imagine.
Happily, if that’s the word I want, I have been presented with something other than pin-removal to stress about for tomorrow.
It’s going to snow.
I’m mean, it’s going to really snow, starting about 4 pm today and carrying on until 7 pm on Tuesday. The knee scooter has so-called “all-terrain” tires, but I’m not sure about grip on a snowy metal ramp. Steve is going to lay tarp over the ramp to keep it dry, and we will doubtless Contrive. Still, I’m feeling Somewhat Ill-Used. While snow is an Allowed Move nine months out of twelve, we usually don’t have Serious Weather in mid-November.
Faithful auditors of this blog will recall that I spent a lot of time planning and preparing for this event, despite which, some things still caught me — and us — off-guard.
One of the most glaring planning…errors was the time I took to write out a list of food I would definitely eat, even if I was “too sick” to want to eat. The problem? Well, I’ve only ever been — sick. And not even seriously sick, at that. A bad case of the flu is maybe the worst I’ve ever had to cope with, and except for that time when I sprained my ankle and had to hang around on the couch — during which I was on deadline and barely noticed the slight inconveniences — I have not been…er…wounded.
So, I planned for being sick. And having your foot broken and reassembled is not in any way like being sick. It’s like you’re Perfectly Fine — except for the part where your foot won’t bear your weight, and you’re constantly frustrated by not being able to do Very Simple, Everyday things, and have to ask for help.
I hadn’t planned on being mildly allergic to the various “no-wash” and dry shampoos, which meant Steve needed to step up and help me wash my hair, which he has done, and problem solved, but — not something I had expected.
I also hadn’t planned on my posterior being unequal to the task of sitting for days in a firmly upholstered Command Chair. After two weeks, it hurt to sit. Steve found me a sheepskin-covered, three-layer gel pillow of varying densities, and that? Has done the trick.
I had worried about post-operative depression, which I did, vaguely, know was A Thing. I have had some Blue Days, but staying in touch with Steve, and the attention of the cats — not to mention that I’m really enjoying having time to read, has helped to keep these events from joining hands and forming an unending black hole.
I also think that, as a person who customarily keeps time by how many words I’ve written, I didn’t have a Solid Grasp on just how long eight weeks is.
In other news, I’ve been carrying on with reading stuff written by other people, which has been pleasant. At some fast-approaching point, I will need to Actually Read Trader’s Leap, with comments from Madame the Publisher in mind. That point is not yet arrived, however.
I also have a couple of story ideas in mind, but they’re still perking along in the back of my mind, and will dutifully present themselves as Ready to Write when they’ve perked long enough.
And that? Is the State of the Command Chair.
I hope everybody’s doing well.