Ruptured ligament that needs to be surgically repaired.
What can I say? When I decide to injure myself, I don’t half-ass it.
But for me, being injured is not enough. Oh, no, no, no. Not only can I not put any weight on my left leg and therefore need crutches to stand… I decided to go ahead and move too.
This means I cannot pack myself.
Which means my family and friends have to pack and move everything for me.
EASIEST MOVE EVER!
Actually I totally wish I felt that way. Instead I feel like a total schmuck sitting on the bed with my leg elevated, directing people where to pack my underwear and toaster oven.
That’s a lie too. I don’t own a toaster oven.
My cat, on the other hand, has no problem relaxing while everyone else packs.
You can’t tell from this picture, but she is totally freaking out. She doesn’t like people in her house and she doesn’t like the fact that my foot is broken. Every time I sit down she lays on my lap in a protective manner and hisses at anyone who comes close.
She is super adorable like that.
That’s how I spent my weekend, watching other people pack my stuff. I must say, I chose the right people for the job too. They got all my shit – and I have more than any one woman should possess - boxed up in a day and a half.
I’m starting to think breaking a bone before I move might not be such a bad ideal…
My surgery is scheduled for Thursday this week. Since my current place is completely boxed up and I can’t officially move into my new place until next weekend, I’ve decided to crash at my parents for the week. Which is great because I really do need help to do most things outside of wiping my own ass – I’ve got that covered – but bad because even a piece of wheat toast comes slathered with half a cup of butter. I can actually feel my ass getting larger at every meal.
The doctor told me to plan on taking TWO WEEKS off from work. Under any other circumstances two weeks off would be great. Spending the majority of my PTO to stay home watching daytime TV and recover is not my idea of a good time.
I have three days this week to get all my ducks in a row before I go under the knife.
Piece of cake. I’ll just tell all of my clients that their needs have to take some time off too.
To sum up, skinny jeans are the devil. If you wear them, you will likely be injured, become emotionally unstable, living with your parents (again) and well on your way to being checked into an institution where you can “get some rest.”
PS – my sister Staci proof read this post and said it might be to my advantage to mention I am on pain pills.