And everything seemed so normal.
After writing my last entry, McDonald's sounded really good, so I went there for lunch. Maybe they will secretly decide to make me fat too, so I can sue them. I could then use the money I received to get liposuction and a really hot personal trainer, so really, I would win on all fronts. I should probably set up a camera-trap of some kind to take pictures if Grimace sneaks into my bedroom while I am sleeping and makes me eat hot apple pies all night.
The trip was, all in all, fairly uneventful. So I get back to the office, I sit at my desk. I do some work. I stand up to get coffee. I almost fall down.
Apparently between sitting down at my desk and standing up again, something traumatic happened to the muscle/group of muscles that attaches my right leg to the rest of me. I cannot move that particular bit of me without some particularly exciting lances of shooting pain going on.
I limped my way about the office, and I somehow managed to limp my way to the subway, and miraculously survived what is probably the most crowded subway ride I have endured in a long time, and that is really saying something. (At one point some girl had her ass shoved right into mine -- to the extent where I think I could tell that she was not wearing underwear.)
I have been limping around my house and making pathetic little whimpery noises now and then. Miss Monkeypants from across the hall has recommended a very nice doctor, and if this continues, I shall visit him in the morning.
I feel like Kerri Strug. Can I get a gold medal for heroically making it up the stairs to my bedroom?