The Lamest Post in the History of Forever

Allow me to complain. I don't do it all that often. But considering that we just had a three day weekend, I feel robbed.

Saturday got taken up by a work-related memorial service, in the city - one of those events at which one's attendance feels mandatory rather than heart-felt. She was a lovely woman, and important to our organization in many ways over a long period of time, but I barely knew her, and would rather have been almost anywhere else at 11:00 on Saturday morning.

Sunday, we went for a bike ride, en famille. At what should have been the mid-point, I fell off my bike. I wasn't even riding! I'd stopped, waiting for my people, and in the process of dismounting, I caught my leg on the rear tire and went down, smash, on my tuchus. I swear, I thought I'd broken my coccyx, so much so that my husband took me to the ER where they shot me up with morphine and x-rayed me. Luckily it's not broken, but as the nice doctor pointed out, that means two weeks of pain instead of six weeks. Joy. I spent the rest of the weekend doped up on Percocet, reading and napping.

I did stagger out to the Memorial Day parade, briefly, and managed to miss two of the three dignitaries as they went by. I did wave frantically at the Secretary of State; I don't think she saw me though.

The worst bit about this damned injury is that on Thursday I have to get in the car and drive for four hours. I think I'll take my husband's car, because his isn't a stick shift, but still - not exactly looking forward to it.

Maybe it won't be so bad; I did make it to work today.

Okay. I'm not going to complain anymore.

Oh, except that this inability to move is going to interfere with my Couch to 5K training - of which I'd only gotten through the first week.

Argh.

No more lame posts. I promise.

(Maybe.)