Things I hate right now...
...My legs.
My legs mean that I'm peeling everywhere.
My legs mean every time I sit up with them down, I have to wait through 10 minutes of pain for the fluid to redistribute in them.
My legs mean that if I stand upright and don't immediately start them moving to the next sitting location I will either bite through my tongue to keep from screaming (did it, thank you Sean for not completely losing it when you saw that my mouth was full of blood) or collapse into Johnny in agony. (They also meant that when we tried to just stand, all the capillaries in the surface of the skin burst simultaneously, so now I get to worry about falling and bruising and having actual substantial blood loss from said bruising. Awesome).
My legs mean that walking is not an option--sequential falling over very short distances sort of is. The bathroom becomes a fascinatingly difficult adventure.
My legs mean that I get to have a long, drawn out, knock down drag out fight with my crappy Health Insurance Company that took a minimum of three months to send anyone on their student policy a card if at all (I never ever got mine, and have subsisted on the print out of a temporary one all year) to cover a very very necessary urgent care appointment out of state, which, if they cover at all, will be a reimbursement probably a few years down the line.
But mostly, my legs mean that I don't get to go camping with my Yemen crew, a trip I have been looking forward to all summer and one I don't know if we'll ever all be in town again to do together.
I fucking hate my legs.
My legs mean that I'm peeling everywhere.
My legs mean every time I sit up with them down, I have to wait through 10 minutes of pain for the fluid to redistribute in them.
My legs mean that if I stand upright and don't immediately start them moving to the next sitting location I will either bite through my tongue to keep from screaming (did it, thank you Sean for not completely losing it when you saw that my mouth was full of blood) or collapse into Johnny in agony. (They also meant that when we tried to just stand, all the capillaries in the surface of the skin burst simultaneously, so now I get to worry about falling and bruising and having actual substantial blood loss from said bruising. Awesome).
My legs mean that walking is not an option--sequential falling over very short distances sort of is. The bathroom becomes a fascinatingly difficult adventure.
My legs mean that I get to have a long, drawn out, knock down drag out fight with my crappy Health Insurance Company that took a minimum of three months to send anyone on their student policy a card if at all (I never ever got mine, and have subsisted on the print out of a temporary one all year) to cover a very very necessary urgent care appointment out of state, which, if they cover at all, will be a reimbursement probably a few years down the line.
But mostly, my legs mean that I don't get to go camping with my Yemen crew, a trip I have been looking forward to all summer and one I don't know if we'll ever all be in town again to do together.
I fucking hate my legs.