…the bed, you potty-minded malcontent, the bed! (Doesn’t anyone do housework around here??)
That was my work-out. She said, slyly. As well, no-one tells you that when one buggers one’s knee as adroitly as I have that one’s energy level can be stupefyingly unpredictable.
Anyway…here I sit in my fetching dressing gown…noshing on a steaming bowl of oatmeal with raisins and coconut and slivered almonds and flax seeds and other things freakishly good for you…feeling as though, well, that was a great bit of exercise. And, of course, my work here is done.
Somebody mop my moist brow.
Supernurse suggests that I make lists so that I can get things done. Rather than gazing listlessly out the window in my office and making little whimpering noises.
- Phone for physiotherapy. Yeah, like anything is going to hold the knee together. Ha.
- Investigate Deep Water Running. Can you imagine me in a bathing suit?? Ghastly thought.
- Make a meaningful birthday card for my father and for my dear friend, Geek. Geek has no admiration for my sense of humour. He thinks I am unrepentently juvenile.
- Change the invitation to the card party. Card party is an excuse for wine and running with scissors.
- Inform Geek’s Number One Son that we’re taking his dad out for dins on Saturday night and would he like to join us?
Note to self: must also call Geek’s sonorous friend Burly Middle-Classed Guy and his (quite sweet) wife, Dirndl Skirt.
The fun never ends.