Lately I’ve been somewhat of a sourpuss. Fine! Have it your way, then; I’ve been an utterly petulantly, self-indulgently moody sourpuss.
You will remember my ankle, perhaps? I sprained one of the tendons that run along the top of the foot. Who knew an injury would alter and augment my cheerful disposition to this degree. Pain, I suppose, will do that to you. And not just pain, but inconveniencing pain. Not only does it take me three times as long to get anywhere, but my workouts — my nightly, sanity reviving workouts, freeing this writer of a day copious with discouragement and defeat — are devoid of all the exercises that raise my heart-rate, which in turn make me sweat, which in turn release those delightful little endorphins that so obligingly bring me happiness. Well, I can’t have that, can I? So, I decided to just do them anyway. This is where I tell you I injured my ankle over 2 weeks ago and the swelling has NOT gone down. Hm . . . why ever could that be?