(Yeah, this is my x-ray from today and not six weeks ago. My toes had been outta the cast for all of ten seconds so they were still frozen sideways)
It's been ten hours since I had my cast chopped off, got a follow up x-ray, and was delivered the completely shitty news. I'm still going to be on crutches for at least another month, maybe more. I don't actually know right now and won't know anything for another four weeks. My fiberglass cast has been replaced by a heavier, bulkier, more cumbersome walking boot that I'm not actually allowed to walk in, which has only served to make this whole process that much shittier.
"It's a bad break"
'Yeah I fucking know it's a bad break Doc,'
but I just wasn't prepared for this set back today. I thought my foot was feeling really good lately. It's not even about the running anymore, in fact I could give a shit about running at this point, I just want to be able to walk on my own two feet and still have hands to utilize at the same time. Imagine that! I'm completely fucking sick of how difficult the most menial of tasks have become while on crutches. Laundry, vacuuming, sweeping, showering...this is how I quantify a successful day right now.
Since I basically broke my foot the week after I officially moved into my new apt, I still have boxes that I've been unable to move into storage and I'm still short on furniture because I can't actually buy anything since I can't fucking lift and transport it. I have to organize grocery shopping through a friend. I have the neighbors basically taking care of my dog for me, and worst of all is that I've been unable to work throughout this entire process. I thought today was the day that I could finally start working past all of this. I had been counting down to today for weeks on end, yet low and behold 'that day' is now an unknown imaginary time frame that exists at least a month from here, maybe more, and THAT is why this hurts so much. The complete uncertainty of what I'm even dealing with.
It's like running a fifty mile race, crossing the finish line completely spent and thinking you've won, and then being told,
"Opps, our bad, it's actually 100 mile race...we think? They'll letcha know at the other end. Have fun!"
I went into this thing saying "It's only six weeks. I can handle six weeks, whatever I'll make it work."
Well, here I am six weeks later and with no fucking clue as to when I'm actually going to be able to walk on my own two feet again, let alone run.
Yeah I'll get through it, yeah I'll get over it, yeah I'll eventually be able to laugh about it and I might even call it a beneficial experience one day, but for right now,
FUCK ME!