I spent almost all of yesterday trapped in my apartment, mincing about on broken limbs, missing out on everyone’s parties. I am so tired of chronic pain. Unbelievably, horribly tired. I need to get back to Seattle, settle in for an afternoon with a massage therapist friend who knows my case history, chat them up, offer them chocolate, and grit my teeth while my bones are re-placed, my flesh made malleable under their interesting hands. I’ve left it too long again, to the point where it’s affecting my quality of life and extending the healing process, two steps backward with every step forward.
Oh well. Maybe next weekend. As with everything else in my life, it all comes down to money. The lack of it. It does not help that my boots died, too. Stitching popped, soles peeling into pages of failed rubber, and the final straw – a zipper that snapped mid-step – all in three days about a month after purchase. I couldn’t afford new boots when I got them the same way I can’t afford new boots now, but they were a necessity, even if I didn’t like them, because everything else I own has a heel, which, given the current state of my injuries, grind the bones together in my ankle with almost an audible sound.
My back, too, I need to have looked at. The current theory is that I sprained my spine when my bicycle chain snapped under me in December, but the more I live with the damage and fall-out, the less I believe that to be what’s crippling me now.