AKA crutches suck.
Yeah, my upper arms are totally rock solid (a look I've been after during many trips to the gym), and no, my armpits are fine--I wasn't about to make that classic mistake. But, honestly, I'm going nuts. Nothing is easy, nothing is getting done, and I am driving myself, and hubby, just a little crazy here. I'm not one of those people who "sits still" easily. Er, at all, really. But, I have to right now. I mean, my leg is getting better, so I can do a few things, but sweeping my floor? Vacuuming? Dragging the laundry to the dryer in our complex? Only hubby can do it. Now, to give credit where credit is due, he's been great. But it's become very clear to me that I'm a little (ahem, *a lot*) more picky about stuff like this than he is. When the dishes have taken over the kitchen, I start to twitch--he says he'll do them tomorrow. GAH!
It doesn't help that I can't seem to angle the dang sticks anywhere where they'll just stay in one spot. No. They like to fall over, often on unsuspecting lab mates. It's true, I have homicidal crutches. Thankfully, they have yet to take me out completely (with the exception of the wet and slippery floor at the library...).
I have also come to the conclusion that if anyone in my family ever nearly dies in a car wreck, there's a good chance I'll totally ignore them, or proceed to use them like their personal therapist. Never mind that I can't even get to the lab where my life's work is taking place, even though I can see it from my house, or just could really use some time away from campus. Honestly, I should write a book! :)