OK, so the orthopedist informs me that “people our age” take a little longer to heal, and rather than releasing me to work after six weeks, he wants to see me at the seven week point to reevaluate the break. So I go back for a re-check on April 26, and if I’m really lucky he’ll let me go back after that.

I am accomplishing things at home, so it could be worse, but it’s still frustrating. The Elder Sister has a birthday coming up next week, and I’ve been working on completing some felt Christmas ornament kits so I have something to give her. What I’m working on was started years ago and abandoned half-done, so it feels good to finally be completing some of this back-log. The regular ornaments usually only take a couple of hours each, but I finished a felt wreath with heavy ornamentation that easily had a couple of hundred hours invested in it over the course of the last eight years. It’s about time I finished that one off.

The worst thing is being totally dependent on others to do anything that requires driving. Grocery shopping, medications, doctor appointments, even a lousy trip out for fast food all demand that I obtain a chauffeur. A certain Professor has even had the audacity to allude to “Driving Miss Daisy” once or twice. A perfect case of broken ankle as motive for murder.

There’s very little daytime television to engage me, but I keep the TV on as background noise. While the shows aren’t really sticking to the forebrain, the J. G. Wentworth 877 Cash Now song has been a three-day earworm that shows no signs of going away. It was literally running through my head when I first woke up this morning.

This can’t be healthy.