Y’know, in theory being quasi-ambidextrous-ish would mean that breaking your left wrist wouldn’t be too much of a problem, right? But noooo, I’m too damn used to using my left hand for so much (brains OUT of the gutter. And yes, you were thinking it), even with it being my non-dominant hand, that everything is a nuisance.
Especially typing. Oh typing is getting very very frustrating. AND buggering up my right wrist as well. *grump grump grump*
And there’s a lot around the house I can’t do. Which is kinda fine because I don’t particularly want to do any of it. Because I am lazy and sensible. Right, now can someone tell my brain that?
Silly Brain: hmmm the coving around the edge of the room needs cleaning. We should stand on chair on one leg and clean it one handed
Sensible Brain: What?! NO! Do you want to land us in hospital again?
Silly Brain: but but but THE COVING!
Sensible Brain. No.
Silly Brain: Fine, we’ll take the bin out instead.
Sensible Brain: But but but we hate taking the bin out. We fight tooth and nail to make Beloved take the bin out every time. Now you want to take it out when you have a perfect excuse to make him do it?
Silly Brain: Those windows look dirty… where’s the ladder?
Sensible Brain: *sigh*
My brain is awkward for the sake of awkwardness sometimes. Of course it would help a lot more if Beloved didn’t make me want to test if I could strangle him with one hand. Like with the dishwasher. No the dishwasher hasn’t shrunk – but you can actually put more than the front row of dishes in if you’ll pull the trays OUT. stop filling the front row and declaring it full *grumble*
It may not be guessed, but when sick, injured or otherwise indisposed, I gets cranky I does. It does not help that beloved likes to poke and annoy the sick – and throw things and run away when I can’t chase him or throw things back properly. It is unfair, yes yes it is.
Of course I can take some glee watching him maraud around the garden in his war against the malicious and pernicious Cabbage White Butterfly.
We’ve been lucky enough that his veggies have largely been pest free all year – but now the butterflies are swooping in like slightly dazed bombers. I think I should be concerned by how paranoid he has become – while other people watch television he sits and monitors the garden for the dreaded fluttery white butterflies.
Also, it appears that the funeral customs of the Cabbage White Butterfly involve inviting every other butterfly in a 50 mile radius, much to Beloved’s distress *watches with amusement*.
He is also training the cat to hunt butterflies. She is training him not to bother trying to make a sleepy cat do anything but sleep. She has mastered the art of sleeping while being brandished at butterflies.