About a month ago I enabled some ridiculous Windows Live family safety computer program because my child has been spending an inordinate amount of unsupervised time on YouTube. I didn't want her accidentally clicking on any links that were going to show her videos on how to make her own a-bomb because you NEVER KNOW. I quickly found out that not only does this program block dirty sites from your eleven year-old, but it will also render the 34 year-old college educated woman in the home completely unable to use her computer for anything other than checking her bank account balance. And God help me, I can NOT figure out how to get my 'puter back to where it was before I installed the stupid thing.
I haven't told Chad yet.
Another reason it's been a while since I've been here is that my life is has become the most boring of lives you can imagine. I wish someone had warned me before this tendon surgery that I would be unable to do anything useful for three to six months. Because that's what my doctor and my physical therapist are telling me now that I'm already sliced and diced. So even though it's been three months since my surgery and my scar looks beautiful and I even went out an got a pedicure I still can't do anything normal like I used to do without wearing out and needing drugs. I can't walk long distances. I can't run. I can't walk my dog. I can't garden. I can't clean my house. I can't leave on an anniversary vacation to Vegas because I can't walk the strip! I can't walk around barefoot. I barely make it to and from work and have to take long breaks between cares on my patients to make it through my twelve hour shift. I've spent the entire summer on the couch and the last thing I want to do after I come home from work is SIT ON THE DAMN COUCH but it seems that's all I can do because I have to recover so that I can just GO BACK TO WORK. I can't take any more TV. I don't want to watch any more movies. I don't want to sit in the heat anymore. The fun of having a handicap parking sticker has worn off.
I. Am. Burned. Out.
I desperately need a tropical vacation or I'm going to go completely postal.
I know that I should be grateful that I have my legs. That they function. But I am so angry at my traitorous body that I am slipping into that grey area before depression. I am hurting all the time and it is seriously draining me of my happiness. I completely broke down at my physical therapist last week and insisted that it was all JUST TOO MUCH and that I needed to slow down on my PT. (We're moving it from three times a week to once.) My doc even lectured me about having gone back to work too soon and ended up giving me a cortisone shot two days ago. But it's been THREE EFFING MONTHS. Come ON foot. The last thing I want to do is slow down but it appears that that's all I can still do. And I know that my husband (and most likely everyone else in my life) is sick of my whining so I try to just keep moving. But I feel like I'm just sliming along at a slug crawl and barely arriving to the next day.
So there you are, I have officially dumped on you, Internet.
More random:
Emma started sixth grade. I caught her texting a boy and put the squash on that quickly. I have a feeling the teenage years are going to be interesting.
The foot today:
Mommy and Emma pedicures:
Emma fishing with Daddy:
A Friday night impromptu piano recital.
(What a rude audience.)
I'm sure I'll be out of this funk soon, since truthfully I get 1% better every day, but let's hope that by the next time I get on here I won't be so damn depressed. And that I'll back off on the profanity a tad.
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