Music:'Fake Tales Of San Francisco' - Arctic Monkeys
Yesterday morning started pleasant and full of promise: the sun was shining, I was in a remarkably good mood, looking forward to finally getting to see Wallace & Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, and I had just made myself a nice pot of coffee. I put on some music, sat down, grabbed a magazine, turned to take a sip, and then two of my cats jumped up into my lap simultaneously. The pain has been excruciating ever since. I think I must have pulled a muscle in my lower back or something: I can't sit, I can barely stand, the whole outside of my right leg feels like it's on fire, my foot tingles and my buttock has clenched up painfully. I'm popping Nurofen like you wouldn't believe but it does little to dull the agony and I'm using my crutches again to get around. Though mostly I just stay in bed and stare at the ceiling. It doesn't hurt so much if I just stay still.
Tell you what, though: there's nothing like being bedridden to make you see how inadequate a housewife you are. How do those dustbunnies stay up there, I wonder?