All this resting is doing nothing for my runner's knee. After a week of almost diligently embarking on daily long walks, my knee is back to how it was before Göteborgsvarvet. Why? Why? I haven't walked since Sunday, yet it's only getting worse.
Please don't tell me it has to do with my missing a couple of stretching sessions.
Okay, okay. It's more like a couple of weeks of stretching sessions. But surely such a MINOR miss can't cause the inflammation to flare up?
My cats have been keeping me up at night the last couple of days. Take last night, for example. Our youngest, who's normally so good at finding the sand in his litter box after he's done his business is now aping our oldest and digging all over the bathroom walls instead of in the sand.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Then, around 03.42 am, obviously having nothing better to do than think about ways to make my life miserable, he suddenly realised his claws weren't sharp enough. So he crawled under the bed, lay on his back and sharpened them on my mattress.
Beautiful, furry black cat, full of life and curiosity, available to a good home with plenty of scratching posts. Preferably to a person who works nights. Or a taxidermist.
As you can imagine, I'm a little tired today. Eyes have trouble focusing on things. My narcoleptic fits have thankfully not caused any road accidents, although I was close to hitting a hare when it crossed the 30km/h road a hundred metres in front of me. Slow...reflexes.
My day only got worse after that. I spilled some water on the table at lunch. I stabbed my thumb with the tape dispenser as I was reaching for the stapler so it bled. I dropped my mobile phone on the floor when I tried to place it on the table and missed the table. Then I got a paper cut. Yeah. Ouch.
But hey! It's Friday. J has been on a business trip and is coming back later today. We will be celebrating his return with some brownies and a good film. Of which I'm sure I'll miss the ending, because I will have fallen asleep about halfway.