I think the scales have finally tipped. No longer is my life surreal. It is absurd.
Tonight, after getting some glass in my foot (from a glass that fell off the counter when Aidan walked by the frightening sink with dishes stacked high), I hobbled outside with the garbage, stepped on dog poop, dragged the garbage can out to the alley with my good arm, using my hip to steady the booms down the stairs. The dress I’ve had on for days quickly took on the fragrance of garbage. Because of my lack of external rotation, dressing and undressing results in serious pain. So, not only did I have to shower, I had to wash the dress. The one that I live in. At that’s no metaphor. Now, I’m wondering if the world will accept me in an old tank top and Monsters, Inc. pajama pants.
Long live Mike Wazowski and Sully!
Seriously. Please top this.