Three Down One To Go

So, as the left hand and its carpal tunnel scar gradually recover from their trauma, on Friday I had steroid injections in my aching feet. Hobbling home across the park I reflected on the fact that only my right hand remains intact (though eventually that will be interfered with too).

Sadly, though I have the complexion of a 20-year-old (actually, I currently have a spot on my nose which makes it more like a teenager's) I appear to have the skeleton of a near-corpse. If I ever manage to reach retirement age before they raise it to the day after death, not for me the gentle strolls in the coutryside, or indeed anything else that requires my extremities to actually work without agony. The feet I quite liked the look of, and prided myself on, for much of my life haven't repaid my care. I give them the best treatment with rich creams, and all they do for me is have toes that are too supple and therefore get arthritis, arches that are too high and need support, and shoe requirements that are completely impossible to meet - especially when they need to be adapted for odd-length legs.

If I kill myself tomorrow, maybe they'll let me retire on Tuesday.