dragonlady7

trying to be positive and optimistic

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a good story, from the weekend

On Saturday I was restless. “Let’s go get ice cream,” I said.

“We could take a walk to [place],” Dude suggested. It’s not far, but it’s not close– it’s within the range of the walks he takes daily, but it’s far enough that usually I realize halfway there that I’ve made a poor shoe choice and wind up with a blister.

It’s also far enough that, well. I get up, pace restlessly around the house. My hip makes a clicking sensation. I come back. “I can’t walk that far,” I say, sad. It’s within our normal range, but I know I’ll be in agony if I try it. Sometimes that’s how I fix it, though, I hurt myself and then that’s enough to make it go back and feel all right, after a few hours of pain and suffering. Sometimes, though, it doesn’t, and then I’ve ruined my week.

So we don’t, we drive, to a different place (also within walking range, but a rather ambitious hike for us; we did it once after dark, in the worst days of my sun allergy when I was feeling cooped up, and I tore most of the skin off my feet with a poor shoe/sock combo choice, but I had no regrets really).

That other place has ridiculous stuff, and I get an absolutely horrifying sundae made of marshmallow and Peeps. It’s horrible. it’s wonderful. I love it.

Just down the street is a doughnut shop, a local place that’s got two locations and has never sold out to anybody and is just themselves, and they make the doughnuts themselves, and don’t freeze them. The cream-filled ones are heavy and actually filled, not just the empty shells with a little puff on the end like Dunkin switched over to doing about halfway through my childhood.

We get half a dozen doughnuts. We forget to have one that night, but the next morning we have one apiece, and Sunday night we have one apiece for dessert. I have a chocolate angel, and I spend twenty minutes eating it, and Dude says “You enjoying that” like three times ,and each time I respond, radiantly happy, “yes.” It is the highlight of my day.

I have the last doughnut with me this morning. It is a peanut-creme-filled chocolate-topped doughnut. I am eating it slowly with my coffee; I have two video transfer orders running downstairs and one up here, and I’m trying to figure out how much I can get done before anyone else gets in and I lose momentum. Why do I work so much better alone and unobserved? I don’t know, but I do. (I won’t lie, I’d thought that unsupervised time would be a primo opportunity to fuck around, but I don’t, really, I’m hypercompetent when nobody’s looking, and I don’t know why.)

I slept poorly, wedged into an uncomfortable position so i’d stay off my hip. (Lying on the bad one hurts it, though it feels fine at the time– it slides it out of the socket slightly, and then later the muscles are furious. Lying on the other side is worse, because then the bad hip is uppermost and unrestrained and just goes wherever. I have to prop it with a pillow and that never stays. Lying on my back is worst of all; both hips hate that. if I try to prop my knees up with pillows that is somehow even worse and I nearly crippled myself trying. Lying on my face mostly works except that my spine has to curve back to accomodate my boobs, and that’s comfy for about three hours and then I need to turn onto my side. Neither side is good. All of this, mind, is me healing the damage from sleeping on my sister’s rock-hard guest mattress last week, which is quite a good mattress given her tastes but I am not her and my body disagrees.)

But today, neither hip hurts, and I will repeat my Grudging Exerbike Workout and hope for the best. (Your picture was not posted)