Dear Kay,
I am so old. Yesterday afternoon Squidge and I went walking to the cafe on the corner and I rolled my ankle in my shoe. It hurt, but I kind of just walked it off and it seemed ok. Then when we came back I had a snooze on the couch (Sunday arvo snoozes are basically the only reason I live) and when I woke up it was KILLING. Like, incredibly. Way way more than seemed, y'know, rational. Way more than necessary, that's for damn sure.
There were ice packs, tears. Mum came round with a bandage and wrapped it up for me while I pouted and got frustrated. At one stage I had my leg over the back of the couch and it wasn't sexy at all. What the fuck is that shit?
Anyway, I'm 'working at home' today, which means logging in to my email every half hour and then fucking around on Facebook for three. So not really much different to when I'm actually there. Could actually get used to this working at home thing, if it weren't for being couch ridden and having to hobble around like fucking Igor.
Still, this is the closest I've been to a legitimate sports injury in a while. I'm almost proud.
Squidge has been very lovely and looking after me so that's nice. I'm actually feeling a lot better today, I slept with it up on a cushion and it had calmed down enough that I managed to sleep for a bit last night. Mostly I just feel old, and annoyed that I wasn't doing anything interesting at the time. I emailed people at work and they were all 'Oooh what crazy shit were you doing at the time?' and I'm all 'Umm...walking...?'
Mmm.
I miss you.
--K.
