Creaky me

So as if having a spastic knee weren't bad enough (and it's pretty bad, considering my MRI in March is going to cost me around two grand), I have now also definitely pulled my hip flexor.

This is a problem for a few reasons.

One It hurts. I consider pain to be pretty up there on my list of priorities.
Two On Pointe's next show is on 7 April, which means I have about six weeks to get it sorted, otherwise there will be no chasse-coupe-jete-rolling for me, oh no there will not.
Three In order to fix the problem I'll probably have to resort to rest and/or physio. But given the four kilos I appear magically to have gained, not exercising doesn't seem like an option any more. As for physio, well, let's just I reckon after the MRI, my MSA will be O-V-E-R.

Yoikes.

The party weekend in Langebaan

The memories
'Eliminate the colon. Font differentiation is the way forward'
Deciding to all go to Nepal, to meet the long-dead Tenzing Norgay, apparently the first man on the moon (I think by this stage we were already severely addled)
Partying in the lounge
'Wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle, yeah. I'm 30 and I know it!'
Dance pizza
Rolling up to the sokkie in a limo
An introduction to the world of langarm
Getting lei-ed
The breathalyser 'game'
Top Gun
Justin's beach soccer wipeout

The damage
Six names, officially thrown
A couple grand down on the credit cards
One cracked windscreen
A collective R450 lost at the casino, in the space of 15 minutes. 

Never to be repeated
Turning 30 Seconds into a drinking game
'Let's go to Kaktus'
'This place is like a cockpit'

Happy ♥ day

Pulls on your heartstrings, doesn't it? Sorry, you know I love a bad pun.

Love Valentine's? Did you get spoilt rotten by your other half? Is the world all butterflies and unicorns with rainbows coming out of their bums for you today?

Nobody cares.

Hate Valentine's? Are you spouting off statistics about how many trees get cut down so Hallmark can print pink and red cards containing worthless platitudes? Or informing everyone you know about how the origin of this nauseating holiday lies in the death of a Roman priest?

Nobody cares.

Everyone just keep calm, eat a heart-shaped chocolate, and carry on. Okay?

Besides, not only is tomorrow Hump Day, you can probably also smash all of those Woollies pink foil-covered goodies into your face tomorrow for 25-50% off.

Knees up

So, remember how I was all excited about starting running? How fulfilled I felt about having a goal? How excited I was about entering that race in March?

Well, about a third of the way into my Couchto10K programme, and after buying lovely New Balance trainers, my doctor has just told me I may want to forget about the whole running thing.

You see, since I was born, I've had slightly spastic knees (and hips and elbows), in the sense that they bend slightly The Wrong Way (scientifically knows as hyperflexion, or genu recurvatum).

This is a normal range of knee
motion, apparently. Whereas mine goes
an extra 10 to 15 degrees past 0.

It's caused by ligament laxity and, long story short, can cause all kinds of problems, like bone grating on bone because my joints extend past where there's cartilage. It's also hard to fix, because ligaments, unlike tendons (which are attached to muscles), can't be strengthened or tightened or whatever, so there's no real way to correct the laxity.

Not ideal.

Not that that there's any bone-grating action happening at the moment. But in the past two weeks or so, running became somewhat painful on impact, and my interval runs became more like long limps back to the car, which is why I thought I'd consult a professional. That professional has now referred me to another professional, who seems to be Mr Uber Knee Guy at Sports Science.

Sounds like a long and expensive road, but if I ever hope to wear in my new trainers, and one day get to my 10k, I'm going to have to limp my way down it.

Meh.

Up the creek, baby!

A road trip, a pit stop for The Best Pies in the World, camping, drinking, listening to bands, eating, drinking, listening to more bands, spending the day in a river drinking, drinking while you go back the campsite to get more drinks, drinking in the river again, eating some more, watching bands while drinking in the river and eating, passing out napping, drinking some more, watching some bands, eating, drinking ... you just have to love music festivals, don't you?

So what if it was super hot? So what if I felt nauseous both nights? So what if my hair looked like Helena Bonham Carter's after The RobFather sprayed me with his water pistol? So what if my knees and my knees alone got sunburnt while riding my crocodile (this is all starting to sound dirty)?

It was still rad as rad can be. And that's pretty rad.

I have this to say (Peggles, Sleeping Beauty and BestePomp, I hope you're reading this)...

BLAP!

Do the lyrics still shake your fucking soul?

One of my all time favourites from I Wrote This For You. It makes me smile and want to cry at the same time.

'And when we speak now, seldom as that is, the old language returns. I wonder if it makes old names make guest appearances in your mind. If you can feel the skin of my neck near yours one more time. Do you reach across the bed for a shape, no longer there. Do you remember it clearly or is it all just memories of memories. Is there still warmth from my fingers tracing the contours of your skin, left somewhere in your body. If you smell the smell of how I used to smell in a crowd, do you think of these things. Is something missing in everyone else's or someone new's voice. Will they never know quite how to laugh or breathe just behind your ear. Do they know what you look like when you want to leave a party, when you've had too much of people. Could they rebuild your body out of clay if they needed to, because they've touched it so many times. Does your back still arch the way it used to when I still kissed you.

Does an old singer sing an old song on an old radio.

Do the lyrics still shake your fucking soul.

Did it sound like this?'

Cock-knockers

Look. I'm so bummed, I even pulled a hipster move
and wrote my emotions on my hand, then took
a photo to show you my angst.

Ever had a day that was supposed to consist of two hours of work, a fancy spa pedicure and a long boozy lunch, but then ended being two hours of work, a monumental fuck-up brought to your attention that's all your fault and will cost your company tens of thousands ... and then a fancy spa pedicure and a long boozy lunch during which you have time to Think About What You've Done?

I have. Thanks today. Way to go messing up what was supposed to be an awesome week for me.

Also, fuck you whoever came up with horoscopes.

That is all.