I pulled a muscle sometime yesterday, became extremely, unpleasantly aware of it this morning, and sometime during my highly medicated & immobile afternoon, realized that I'm one of those people who would've gone absolutely batshit insane if subjected to the rest cure. I got up and down and back up again despite not really being able to use my right arm or turn my head; I sorted a billion little mixed bits of stuff I don't really have use for; I tried to make more things despite myself; I tried to convince Snuggly Hubby that I needed to buy him an early birthday dinner (if he'd just drive me somewhere) . . .
This sucks. :P
Next step is to medicate with alcohol and ice cream. And maybe more of this:
In short: A pound and a half of deep fried mashed potato smilies, half a pound of cheese, a pound of steak slices, sour cream, jalapeno & cheese sour cream (no, one kind wasn't enough), and a half pound of bacon. I might not survive my next helping, but damn it I'll die happy.
This sucks. :P
Next step is to medicate with alcohol and ice cream. And maybe more of this:
In short: A pound and a half of deep fried mashed potato smilies, half a pound of cheese, a pound of steak slices, sour cream, jalapeno & cheese sour cream (no, one kind wasn't enough), and a half pound of bacon. I might not survive my next helping, but damn it I'll die happy.