Brief interruption, the mind explains
"Not to concern yourself." I told her, looking down at my left foot. It's been this way, on and off, first bruised, then a persistent uncomfortable sensation. Not the first time I've had injuries. Scars decorate lovingly on my limbs, none that I'm concerned about.
I wish I could make the limp disappear, but it's easier said than done. I make all sorts of excuses, even to myself, even when the left leg taunts as I walk.
I resist the urge to rub it. Best I rest, least I become a burden to others, particularly to HER. A recovery has been planned, early December, with an R&R, that highly-anticipated process set in motion.
This, I thought, is as it should be.