"for the happy, the sad, I don't want to be, another page in your diary"

Monday 8 June 2015

Not Looking Good

L says that I didn't look good this morning. Sadly there isn’t a mobility scooter available so I take the car into work. L swims, which is admirable. I would have drowned if I’d try a swim this morning. To her the pool is a great unknotter, my body goes the other way and cramps up.

At work, they are all overwhelmed by my latest bout of stupidity and hilariously impressed with the accompanying limp. Although they have seen it all before. L keeps quiet at her work, where they regard walking to Debenhams at lunchtime as their Marathon des Sables.

It’s been suggested that I should perhaps take up something like knitting but, of course, it would have to be competitive and I’d probably still injure myself doing it or stab the dog when it became tangled in the wool. I think someone is speaking from experience there.

In the evening, roles are reversed. L has a girls’ night out and a curry with others who run, so has much bragging to do. I hobble through dog training amid pitiful glances, a little sympathy but certainly no comprehension. 

(Monday 8th June)

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