As is generally known, what remains of my family is scattered here and there, with only a nephew actually on this mainland (over in WA). This xmas was to be my first in blissful peace and quiet, on me tod, because I’ve moved from where charitable people always invited me to eat with them. I planned to spend it with YARN, frogging two pieces of crochet and using my wonderful Stanwood yarn-winder to end up with neat cakes ..
I briefly considered removing all the STUFF that’s sitting on a table in the bedroom – all the yarn, the baskets, the needles, the hooks, the scissors, the patterns, the— oh, you get the idea. This table is my ‘craft’ supply place, for want of something sensible: I bought it because of its thin top – the yarn-winder affixes easily to it.
Being a lazy slob, I decided against removing all the stuff onto the floor and manoeuvring the table out into the living-room, having spotted that one of the little coffee-tables that Chic made would suit my porpoise. I brought it over to My Chair, a big recliner, attached the Stanwood and got started.
I spent a happy hour and a quarter(-ish) leaning over this, first frogging to one side one colour of the mosaic crochet I’d done and winding it then frogging to the other side the second colour, hoping that the growing pile of that wouldn’t tangle – and happily it did so only a bit. Then on to the other piece of crochet that was much smaller and had at least half of each of the two purchased balls still in original wind: the Stanwood wasn’t madly keen on this, and it took me a fair while to get it done.
And then there were four neat cakes and I was happy. I’m good with frogging and starting over – far too good: I do it all the time. :\
I sat back.
Well, that’s not true: I went to sit back ..
Boodie leaped like a dog shot at: my yell of astonished pain would’ve wakened the dead.
I had absolutely FUCKED my lower back, location of problems at the best of times and now location of such pain as not previously experienced. I couldn’t move.
I managed eventually to get to my feet with the aid of my little wheeled set of drawers on my right and the column of the standing lamp that sits next to My Chair on the left; and the only way to reach the Panadeine Forte that’s scripted for me by my succession of GPs to let me sleep more or less through the night was to find something to hang on to for every step. Dunno how long it took me to traverse the short distance into the kitchen to get them, but it was quite a while. And there was an awful lot of yelling in pain and more of swearing ..
That was Friday morning. Since then life has been .. ahh .. limited. I suppose ‘restricted’ is a better word.
And here we are on Monday morning, last public holiday for almost a week. Yes, the pain is reduced. No, it hasn’t gone away. Yes, I need more Panadeine Forte. Yes, I’ve taken steps to get it. No, I’m not sure how effective they’ll be, as I have a new GP (I mean, the second one since coming to Maribyrnong) and have seen her just the once. But as I took a shine to her at once, I am hopeful.
I am also smelly, as I’m not prepared to take the risk of showering: standing is by far the worst aspect of whatever damage I did by that lengthy bending forward (almost doubled over, really). So as there’s no-one here to be offended by my state of filth, I remain unwashed until I have more Panadeine Forte in my hands and can swallow several of ’em.
There are good and bad things about living on yer own ..