Remember last week how I was all "I want to be a runner! I'm going to run places and get fit and have a cute little runner's bum!"? How times have changed. This week, my refrain goes a little like this, "I'm so brooooken. I'm a cripple! I'll never walk properly again."
It's all Stella's fault. She's always under foot. Usually I think it's funny because she's tripping other people. People who don't expect a freaking dog to act like a cat (you know, all twisty through your legs, trying to get attention.) Except that when it happens to me, it's not so funny. When it happens to me, not only do I trip - I trip and kick my foot out and hit the corner of the coffee table. I hit my Achilles on the coffee table. You know, the thing that makes you walk properly? Well when you bruise it SEVERELY, you don't walk properly. In fact, you walk kind of fucked up. And you cry a lot. And then, when the bruising and swelling spreads to the front of your leg (wtf is that?) you go to the walk-in clinic (because you are still contemplating breaking up with your doctor, but you haven't found a new doctor yet, and whoa boy, that is another story altogether) and the doctor there won't prescribe you the good stuff, like you were hoping, but instead gives you a physio referral. Physio that you can't afford. So hi, my name is Hillary and I NEED A CANE.