In which I learn a painful lesson
I was carrying out the arcane and unusual hobby of pulling on my pants – knickers, not trousers – on Thursday, when one of my sacroiliac joints gave a forbidding clunk.
Possibly a(nother) sign from the Universe, this one telling me not to wear pants? (On previous occasions I’ve been putting on trousers, reaching for things, drying my feet, playing catch, or plugging something in, so I guess those are all out too.)
I’m now marooned on my mattress like an upturned turtle (or like a beached walrus as my mother flatteringly suggests). Walking is currently a spine-drenching shriek-inducing slow drag. My neighbours must be thinking I’m having quite the time of it, given the gasps, moans, swearing and thunks I’ve been making when trying to get to the loo. At least alternate reality me is enjoying herself.
Notes for Future Self
- Keep the loo roll holder topped up (or else no loo paper for you).
- Move all necessities to lower cupboards (but not too low). Or raise the entire floor of the flat. Or get taller.
- Stock more painkiller packs by your bed, ditto emergency food for stomach lining. Don’t eat emergency food in non-emergencies, idiot.
- Keep antiperspirant next to your bed. For the love of all the gods.
- Those fan remotes you thought were stupid? Turns out, not so stupid. Dig those out.
- Take the rubbish out whenever possible so it doesn’t fester for days when you can’t move. Adopt a zero tolerance policy for flies.
- Rig charger cables to loop over the top of the bed so you don’t spend fifteen minutes wriggling millimetre by millimetre to reach them.
- Keep instant edible things in the flat that aren’t just raw tomatoes and celery.
- Get a bottom buddy. [NB. Not what it sounds like] [NB2. Not much better than what it sounds like].
- Skip the pants.