And sad. And kind of worried.
I really can't make a fist with my hand. Given a minute or so, I can carefully assemble my fingers in a ball, but it takes concentration and care. Not what you'd call a fist.
We're still screwing with my medication, but I'm starting to worry if it never gets fixed.
Yesterday, I went and bought this:
How about something happier? Yes. Let's do happier.
We got the Christmas tree put up. The Goob did most of it. It's her thing.
First thing when the tree went up, the Goob asked "Are we going to use my star?" Years ago, when she was maybe two, the Christmas tree topper got broken. I don't even remember what it was. I had the Goober color some paper with crayons and a glitter pen, then rigged up a star with tape and cardboard.
Maybe I'll drug up and see if I can knit. Or spin. Or bake. Or something. Painting my nails as my only creative outlet just isn't cutting it. (Pain doc appointment next week.)