Monthly Archives: August 2011
The thing about having two broken feet and being in a wheelchair is – aside from the depression, random bitchiness and crying jags – is that random things come into your head, and you somehow momentarily forget the whole broken feet thing, and think “yeah, I gotta do that, like right now.”
There is the obvious stuff. Like “that pile of crap is pissing me off, I’m going to clean it up.” Because I’m sitting on my ass all the freaking time so I have a lot of time to look at things and get annoyed by them. Normally piles of clutter aren’t a problem for me, because I have a million things that seem more interesting than cleaning it up. But when I don’t have anything to distract me, now they are irritating
And we have a new lounge for the deck. Which totally needs to be oiled. And I keep seeing it out the window, and thinking, ‘oh, I should go take care of that.”
In my defense, I don’t sit in the wheelchair during the day. It’s a transportation thing, not furniture. So I have these thoughts when sitting on the sofa, or a chair, or in bed.
Other thoughts are totally random. Like marshmallow fluff. My grandmother’s fudge recipe uses it, but we have an organic kitchen, and it shouldn’t be surprising that the local organic shop (“local” right, I shop at Whole Foods. But it is local to me…) doesn’t carry this fine culinary product. So I found a recipe, and thought, hey, I’ve got to order me some organic powdered egg whites and make some. So I can make fudge.
And I was about to order some online, when I realized – Duh! Doesn’t matter if I have all the ingredients, I can’t reach the counter. For probably another month.
Just one other thing to add to the ever growing list of stuff I want to do and can’t wait till I’m able to.
Of course the number one thing on the list… Walking!!
So I’m at a party last night, when a woman I’ve never met before says hi, and then leans down and pulls back my hair by my left ear. I think she’s checking out my earing. But no, she has pulled back my hair to check out my necklace. That’s ok.
But then she complements my necklace, my lace bra, and my boobs.
Um. Weird social moment. Miss Manners doesn’t seem to cover this.
So I say the first thing that comes into my head. “Thanks. I grew them myself.”
Being in a wheelchair is weird.
The score since last I regularly blogged:
Number of feet broken: 2
Number of men I used to date and thought I was going to marry who died: 1
Number of toddlers my sister saved from drowning in a jacuzzi in San Diego: 1
Number of times I’ve ripped out the bag I’m knitting because I’ve messed it up: 6
Nephew’s international rankings in Pokemon: 100
Nephew’s ranking in Sweden: 2
Days till deck is finished: 0
Number of months deck was under construction: 4
Number of times I’ve been able to get on the new deck: 0
Number of friends who have brought me food while I’m unable to drive: 2
Number of friends who have brought me food more than once while I’m unable to drive: 2
Number of friends who have taken me and my wheelchair out so I can stop going stir crazy: 1
Number of days till I’m able to walk again: way way to many.