Bowling is Bad

So, Rambo's dad came to visit yesterday, with his girlfriend. I always hate seeing Rambo's dad because he's one of those people who likes to make horrible comments about me behind my back and tell Rambo not to be with me.

We went out to the Trafford Centre, as he wanted to look around it, and I wasn't able to bring the wheelchair due to...well, not wanting to have to argue the fact that I need it for half an hour and then dealing with the looks and comments from him afterwards. Sooo ten-fifteen minutes into walking around and I'm pretty much dead on my feet, at that odd point where I actually can't tell how much pain I'm in any more as it's all merged together into one big nasty feeling and I have to guage my pain level via other symptoms such as my squeezing Rambo's hand enough to sublux my wrist and thumb, without even noticing that I'm doing it; finding it difficult to concentrate and distinguish separate sounds so I'm having trouble listening to the conversation and giving only monosyllabic answers when I realise I'm being asked questions; getting increasingly irritable and screaming obscenities in my head at everyone in sight for the tiniest little things; and an absolute fascination with seats. I know I'm bad when I'm acutely aware of where the nearest seat is and am unable to get my mind off the fact that I want to sit on it. Longing looks at benches in passing gets really weird looks off the strangers sitting on them, you know.

Anyhow, grasping at straws for any excuse to sit down, I manage to convince people to go get food, and then afterwards they drag me into the bowling alley near the food court, pay for four games, and get pretty damn pissed at me for refusing to even attempt bowling*. Apparently not wanting to break my wrist is being a party-pooper, but really, I have trouble lifting a mug of tea at times, and they want me to lift a bowling ball? Not only that, but throw the damn thing? No thank you.

Those were a pretty boring four games. But I got to sit down the whole time, and it was a good rest, enough for another ten-fifteen minutes of walking around the shopping centre, but after that things started to go bad and eventually Rambo's dad had to bring the car around as I couldn't physically cross the parking lot. *sigh*

Ah well, I learnt my lesson**. I got the wheelchair for a reason and I should make use of it when I need it!





*Not Rambo, of course. He argued with his dad, and ended up taking my gos for me. And winning. :D

**Okay, you caught me. I didn't learn my lesson. I never do. I make the same mistakes over and over again. I'll be complaining about the same thing in a month or so, just you watch.