It’s going to be 80 degrees for another week. I keep thinking I should be happy, but I’m starting to hate it in the same way I hate fall and winter: the weather never changes. I do want a little change. I want to wear my boots and leggings and scarves and sweaters and drink cider and tea (y’all can keep your pumpkin spice lattes) and crush crunchy leaves. I even want a little rain – just a little. I don’t want it to be the same for this long, even if that “same” is beautiful and warm. Maybe I’d like it more if I didn’t know it should be changing, if I knew it wasn’t abnormal.
And yes, one of the reasons I’m unhappy with the weather is because my wrists still hurt. That doesn’t change, either. It fluctuates – two or three days of minimal pain, in which I can unload the dishwasher or use the Xbox controller for 30 seconds while Kevin gets more water, followed by a week of inexplicable discomfort spent wearing my braces for six or seven hours a day, reading only the largest books which can stay open without me having to hold them, not driving, asking Kevin to open the goddamn soy sauce bottle for me.
I used to think I was staying positive, but now I don’t know what I am. Desperate, maybe. In denial. Because it can’t possibly stay like this forever – right? The question prompts a little internal hysterical laughter because the alternative is sobbing. I’m mad – mad that it happened, mad that it won’t go away, mad that it makes me dependent, mad that no one seems to know how to fix it, mad that I’m mad, mad that it’s ultimately a stupid tiny problem and people have way worse problems but I can’t get over mine.
And now those gigantic new iPhone 6s are out and I’m calling it right now: there will be an epidemic of tendonitis around January. Maybe then someone will figure out how to cure it.