Broken bones don’t give you more time

On the contrary, having a broken ankle means I have less time to do all the things that must be done. None of the things that must be done have changed. This leads to intense frustration as my foot swells into an eggplant. And I still haven’t figured out how to carry things with crutches. The last time I hopped around with something under my chin, I nearly passed out.

Today’s goal: getting all the school forms that need to be signed by the allergist to the allergist. This will involve begging the receptionist at the allergist’s office to get them signed and sent back to me in two weeks time instead of the usual five. I hope the crutches make me look very pathetic so I can stir the long-dormant sense of sympathy that is so often irrecoverably buried in said receptionists from years of abuse by belligerent patients.

Wish me luck.

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