brokenclay.org/journal

This afternoon at 5:00 I was grocery shopping with no crutches, no cane, no wobbling from side to side.

By 7:00 I burst into tears when my son carried a dripping wet chicken across the kitchen three times (he’s making stock, the “fresh” chicken is solid like a rock, he’s trying to get the damn giblets out).

By 8:00 I’m hobbling like an old woman.

It’s 9:00, every bone in my body hurts, I can barely walk, I’m crawling up to bed. I hope this is gone tomorrow.

Katja

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