It’s Wednesday of the last week I’m supposed to stay off my sore foot. Come Monday, the crutches go back to the chemist’s and I pretty much have to clean up after all of the slobs who left everything to the forces of entropy.
I’m already gnashing my teeth.
Right now, whenever I put weight on to my sore foot, it hurts like there’s something sharp stuck in the heel. It probably won’t be much better come Monday.
And of course the whole house expects me to be a whirlwind of cleaning activity. I’ll be a limping near-disaster of activity within my limits and it seems like I’m the only one who knows it.
At least it does, here and now.
Powerhouse is still extra busy learning nursing and the only other people who really want to help me out are in Perth [Hi!] and that’s pretty much it for my social network.
I’m sick with worry about whether or not I can get back on top of the housework before it’s time to leave on a holiday we possibly can’t afford and I have no money this week.
At least the passport paperwork’s finished - if not filed. That’ll happen when the express post parcel arrives from scenic Coominya and I can personally haul it off to the post office and finally get it on the way. Urf.
And since it’s the 29th of February, we have a fine tradition of Topsy Turvy day. Where the kids get to boss me and Hubby around - within reason. The kids’ll have fun with that, at least.
I have fun, too. I play up like the kids do when I ask them to do something.