I'm not usually a grumpy person. But lately I can't seem to shake this underlying feeling of blah.
I'm frustrated. Fall* is my favorite season. And the weather's been perfect here. Clear crisp days. Perfect, almost cool, autumn nights.
I want to go for bike rides, walk the dog, rollerblade, or hike to see the soon-to-be changing aspen leaves.
But I can't. And I won't be able to, not before fall ends.
The big black boot on my left ankle will remain there for weeks still. It will be cold, and possibly snowing before I will be able to walk somewhat normally again.
I hate to complain after a great birthday celebration surrounded by friends. But even that, the show at red rocks, and the fiesta were tainted.
The thing is, I'm not really me when I'm on crutches. I am forced to be more or less sedentary. And I'm not. I usually can't sit still.
And I hate having to rely on people. Even those closest to me. My sister to get me upstairs to bed after shots of Patron on my birthday. My mom to do simple household chores for me. Him to carry my plate at the party.
And I hate the thought of canceling my trip next week to see great friends and good music. The practical side of me isn't sure I can make it. But the stubborn, I-can-do-anything, side still thinks I can go.
I can't decide. Ultimately, the doc has the final word. But I hate the defeatist feeling that is slowly creeping in, telling me to stay safe, to stay home. I hate the grumpy edge I've taken on lately. And most of all, I hate the blah.
* I know, technically it's still late summer, but the weather has been distinctly fall-like.