How life looks right about now

My wrist has been hurting for several months. First I blamed it on a particularly thunderous shot on goal that I was barely able to dampen with my doomed outstretched hands. I watched the shot come, too. Not just because he launched the ball from the mid-point of a futsol court, but because before his shot he stopped the ball, squared his hips, stared at me, and marshalled all his energy like some anime character. I blocked the shot, somehow, but my wrist hasn’t stopped hurting since.

As the weeks wore on, another theory asserted itself. Maybe it’s carpal tunnel syndrome? I work on my laptop all day, and my series of home perches aren’t particularly ergonomic. I’ve got the couch I’m slumped into now, which makes every effort to curve your body like a YCMA or Sesame Street character trying to form the letter C. I’ve got my bed, which, as you might have gathered from the name, is a bed. And then there’s my new office, which is less an office than a broomcloset with speakers. The desk in there was meant for the dump – which New Zealanders call the “tip” — but I determined that a ramshackle, too-short desk was better than nothing, and now my wrists and back are telling me that I was very wrong indeed.

I’m in this glorified spider hole with wifi because my family has reoriented the house. I won’t bore you exactly with which kid moved into which room and why, but suffice it to say that in the forest three paths diverged, and I, ow, I took the most painful one. The things we do for our kids. The things we do for our kids that they studiously do not even notice. You’ll thank me one day, kids! Except they won’t. And if I raise my arm to holler at them, it will hurt.

I’ve been solo-parenting for a few weeks, and I have a few weeks to go. My blog posts aren’t being posted correctly to my server, so I should fix that. (In fact, if you’re reading this, it’s possible — but falling short of “likely” — that I did fix it. I played futsal last night and lost to a much better team. It probably helped that I wasn’t in goal. On account of the wrist and all.