Most of the time I’m pretty easy going, and stuff doesn’t bother me much. Except when it does, and then it really does. I can’t remember if it was me, or if I’m remembering a couple of my kids, but I think it was me, and the wrong socks could put me over the edge. Yep, I’m sure it was me. Tight clothes make me squirly.
I set of merrily each morning only to find half way through the day I want to scream. Well my job does do that to me sometimes, but ill fitting clothes do that ALL the time. In fact I’m sitting here in a form fitting t-shirt and too tight Bra (TMI, I know) and I could just pull my hair out. I’ll take care of that shortly.
But here’s what’s making my skin just crawl (and itch). Remember my broken leg? Well apparently I also tore tendons when I broke my fibula and they have not healed. I am back in a splint while my insurance debates the merits of an experimental treatment over surgery. Surgery puts me in mind of casts, which I’d rather NOT be doing again any time soon.
The thing about this splint, which is all very high tech and full of air like my last cast, is that it is very tight. Make me crazy tight. and if the plastic happens to rub my leg it makes my skin itch. It’s enough to make me permanently grouchy.
I can’t help thinking that if I was in a more reasonable frame of mind these things wouldn’t bug me so much. But, as Bilbo Baggins says “I feel like too little jam scraped over too much bread.” There are reasons for this and my rational mind would be able to jolly myself back to normal. But the obsessive compulsive side of me has taken over and we are doomed.*
*Okay, probably not doomed. I’ll take off the dreaded splint, stay off my feet and maybe watch TV all by myself and then tomorrow I’ll feel like plenty of jam again.