I think I got a bit carried away with the dumper truck in work last week.
I’d been allowed out the office (my laptop at home, Jeremy Kyle and coffee on tap) and let loose on one.
The steering wheel has a funny knobbly thing on it, so I happily swung it round and round, little realising the damage it would do to my arm and wrist.
Fast forward a couple of days and I’m in agony. I’ve sprained my right arm and I am once more off work. Getting to be a bit of a habit?
The Teenager has been pressed into service like never before – laundry, getting dishes out the oven, sweeping through the house. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth, ‘I am not your servant’ (stomp stomp) being a favourite retort, with me responding, ‘Oi! I can still flick the internet off with one finger, so ner, ner, ner, ner, ner.’
Anyway, I am moping around the house feeling rather sorry for myself. Who knew arms could be so useful? There is so much I just can’t do without reaching for the painkillers and ‘ooofing’ out loud. Shampooing my hair is farcical. Driving is off-limits and holding a book to read is deadly. I feel as if I’ve been snowed-in without the ‘yay, we’re in the middle of a national crisis!’ excitement that normally follows half an inch of the white stuff.
I took the bus into town yesterday to meet friends for a sushi lunch, and try as I might, I just can’t use chopsticks left-handed. So I gave it a go with my right, wincing, and I just about managed (I was hungry – 6 plates). I’ve bought myself a tubi-grip wotsit and it helps a little. I’ve weaned myself off the strong painkillers after I started dreaming whilst awake. In short, I am Fed Up.
The upside is, I have cleaned out the ‘whatever’ drawer, compiled an Amazon wish list, caught up with all my Scandi-crime programmes on my Sky Planner and got to grips (ha!) with my ‘iPad for Complete and Utter Idiots’ book. I am now semi-fluent in Danish and Swedish and have found my can opener. Plus I have a bunch of useless apps.
I had to text in sick this morning, something I hate doing. The boss responded, ‘no worries, we’re having a lovely fry-up in the cafe’. Meh. If the promise of that won’t get me back to work, nothing will. 5:2 diet be damned..