I’ve had this sore wrist, now, for.. what? A month or two?
And I’m done. I’m just plain DONE.
I can’t carry anything heavy in my right hand because a sudden twinge of pain can pop up at any point in time and make me either drop something or be in agony.
I can’t sew. I can’t colour. I can hardly open the lock on the front of our house. I can’t grate things (read: zucchini) for long periods of time. I can’t use the whipper-snipper. I can’t sleep without a wrist-guard-splint-thingie on. I can’t brush my teeth or put on deodorant or do anything that requires me to ‘twist’ my wrist at all.
In short, I am feeling kind of useless.
And Coffee tells me not to overuse my wrist and to try to relax it and let him do things for me. But he’s not home for 10 hours of each day, and there are things I want to do and things I need to do.
So yes, finally, I made an appointment with the doctor. And I’m going on Friday.
I am telling you all of this because I want you to know that if the doctor doesn’t fix it immediately, and painlessly, I am going to buy myself a helper monkey. I’m going to name him Zeke. And then I will be the most productive person on the face of this earth.
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I think you will need the robotic arm to clean up the poo flung by your helper monkey…wait, don’t you already have a helper monkey? You know? The 4YO??


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