I huff, staring down at the jar defeatedly. “Baby,” I practically whine. “I need help.”

In any other regular situation, I would rather tough it out than admit that I need help. But right now? Right now I’m hopped up on who knows how many pain meds and halfway hallucinating.

I swear I saw a unicorn on the way home.

I had to have wrist surgery because of something the doctor called tight tendons. Now was better than later, due to my first solo tour starting in less than a month. So now I’m under mandatory rest for 24 hours minimum.

This is a stubborn man’s nightmare. I can’t even open a damn jar of jelly for my sandwich. Ridiculous.