October 04, 2005 - 9:09
It will also smell bad, I was told this explicitly.
"It's going to smell funny- Do not try to Febreze it."
When he cut away my splint, he had to notice the shock of arm-hair. It was matted in this way that looked like a man's leg, and he said side-noteishly, "Oh, the hair on your arm will be blackened for several months after the cast is off." No explanation, just a warning. I thought my arm's hair could never be more severe than it already is, but the universe has humbled me in it's demolition course. "Your body hair can, and will, be made increasingly unattractive with time." I accept my lot.
Who will buckle my shoe?
I put them on first this morning, because I wanted to get the most challenging obstacle done with before I was conscious enough to fall into the frustration spiral that is my crippled preparation routine. I crouched there, bleary-eyed in my under-things, fidgeting at the buckles for minutes and minutes, that felt like half hour's, and pitied my situation.
Really though, that is the only trying handicap. The small concentrated actions, like fixing your hair back, or zipping yourself.
My dreamboats for friends have been very wonderful.
"you're broken."