I may have to increase my medication.
Seriously, this is making me so sad I can hardly bring myself to write about it.
Yesterday evening after work I was at the physical therapist, laying on my stomach getting towel marks on my face and with those electrodes stuck to my back. And he comes in and he says, "I want to show you something."
And I look up and he's holding my shoe. With the heel facing me. The teeny, tiny little kitten heel that I more than once professed on this very website how much I hate wearing, but given the fact that my back is practically CRIPPLED I have made the ultimate sacrifice and worn the fuckers.
So I look at him and I say, "What?? Those are tiny little heels!"
And he says to me, "'Heels' being the key word here."
And I say, "Come. On. I have 40 pairs of 3-inch heels in my closet that I can't wear and TWO pairs of these silly little heels that I am wearing as a compromise." Even though I hate them.
And he says to me, "How many pairs of FLATS do you have?"
"FLATS?" I snort. "PRETTY GIRLS DON'T WEAR FLATS."
And he proceeds to tell me that ANY heel at all is putting additional pressure on a back that we are working three days a week to try and heal.
"Once my back is stronger," I ask meekly, "can I wear my shoes again?"
He said, "That's your call."
Stupid. Motherfucker. Bastard.
So I pulled out the only pair of flats I own - some black crocos from the Republic that I thought were cute and practical when I bought them but then I hated the way they looked on me so I never wear them. And I'm wearing them today. To work. With a suit. I look like I forgot to put my shoes on and I'm wearing my slippers in the office. And, of course, all my pants are hemmed for heels. Feh.
I hate my life.
