Getting dressed is too damn difficult – now, more than ever, I want to stay naked all the time. I can’t wait for the day I can do my own bra up again – I have to get Ed to be my boob wrangler and general dresser because my right arm don’t bend so good no more. I’m also so over the novelty of wearing a sling; it’s hot and itchy and ugly. It’s amazing how much you take for granted having two working arms until one decides to go on strike – everything is hard. Putting on a coat? Ow. Getting comfortable in bed? Not going to happen. Using a can opener? Oh, lols. Wiping my butt? Well, let’s just say it’s a darned good thing that I do not poop because dang that would be extra difficult. I am done being dislocated, okay? Time for healing.

Of course, I’m sure the healing would go much faster if I didn’t keep doing dumb things like forgetting I’m injured and conducting an orchestra, or frantically hailing a cab in downtown New York. I just like being mobile, is all. I also like not being referred to as “T-Rex Arms” by those near and dear to me. I can’t wait until THEY do something stupid; I’ll totally be all up in their bidness with offers of training wheels and knee pads and morphine drips.

My giant leg bruise is all dark purple and yellow and itchy. It’s gross! Knee herpes are disgusting.

So far at the space station no one has noticed my additional face hole. This is good.

I have nothing else of import to say!