Yeah, today was the day when my particular dorm building has no electricity. Maintenance and stuff. It's absolutely pouring rain out so they might wind up doing it tomorrow (they said they'd do it tomorrow if it rained)
No matter. My left knee still hurts so I'm going to be up here till the rain stops (not sure how I made it up the hill but I did.) I crashed out in the big dorm-Towers-and I'm watching Who stuff and loving every minute of it.
Haven't noticed my pain increasing too much but then again, it's raining so I can't really tell. I'm on half the prednisone I was on yesterday at this time. I ache again. Same old same old.
I can only hope I can hide next week when Grandma Koshak starts in on her sore joints again. No doubt I will be in a good amount of pain and not wanting to hear it, and having Mom have to cut my food for me again is embarrassing enough when she has to do it in a restaurant without anyone else in the family around. It'll be doubly worse with all of them watching me.
Hopefully she won't have to cut anything for me and I can manage this one by myself.
What's tough about this thing that I've got is not the pain and the stiffness, cause that I can deal with a minimum of fuss. It's when you start figuring out you can't do some things. Stupid things. Things a normal person does on a normal day and they don't even think twice. Tying shoelaces. Opening a doorknob. Taking the top off a jar.
I've made changes to my life to try and cope. I have sandals on with Velcro, and when fall comes I have those sproingy shoelaces that don't need tying. I open doorknobs with my left hand now instead of my right, or I wrap my arm around the door, or I push it with my good shoulder. I have a jar-lid opener (works beautifully, just like it said on the tin!)
My mother cut my meat for me in a restaurant a few months ago, and while no one in the place was probably even remotely interested in what we were discussing or my life it's still darn embarrassing. 22 and my mother has to cut my meat for me. Pathetic.
How the hell am I supposed to manage being an independent adult when I can't even cut my own steak?
I didn't realize how independent (or how knuckle-headed and stubborn) I was until I was forced to concede ground to this thing. More than once Mom has had to tell me to give up because I'm only hurting myself when I push it too far. Like the steak. I refused to give up the knife until my fingers dropped it because they were so stiff and painful. Then Mom (quite patiently, I might add, for how long she'd been insisting that she could do it for me) took the plate and the knife and just cut the darn thing.
Trying not to be frustrated at how fast and far I've fallen in the last year, trying not to get frustrated when it's all going to hell in a handbasket.
Look at me, ranting onwards. I should be a poster child for this kind of sentiment and melancholy moodlighting.
I can only hope they don't do this power outage tomorrow again. And I hope that maintenance gets in my room today and fixes my windows.
Ta,
Bec
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