Five Minutes of Self-Pity

Starting two minutes and thirteen seconds ago, I gave myself five minutes of self pity. I got my cast off, and they put me right back into a splint. Apparently when you don't use an important joint like an ankle and the muscles around it for six weeks, it's not just ready for you to use it again. No, it's wobbly and incapable of supporting your body weight, no matter how much you've lost thanks to the "I have a broken leg and can't grocery shop" diet.

So I'm disappointed that I didn't get to wear the shoe that I had been looking forward to bringing with me to this fated medical appointment. And I'm disappointed that I may or may not actually have the muscle to make it up two flights of stairs to the Christmas dinner. And I'm disappointed that I'm still on crutches. And I'm disappointed that my boss is tired of taking care of me, and I have to make my own arrangements now.

And now my five minutes are up.