I contemplate staying home with my feet up all day. I have a blog entry to write for Storytellers Unplugged, and I sort of feel like I should write another four or five or ten pages on Grail (oh deathmarch, you never gave me anything, but the end really is in sight), and I promised TBRE pizza for dinner.
I also just decided I want oatmeal. Mm, oatmeal.
Right now, though, I am trying to talk myself out of going for a run. My hands hurt from climbing (I need to ice and take some NSAIDs) and my bad ankle is sore and stiff this morning, and you know, in general, maybe it would be a smart day to give your body a break, Bear.
The sore hands thing is, of course, because I am working on harder climbs, which means concomitantly smaller and tricker handholds requiring (often) greater force to stick on. Which translates to tendon strain and scraped fingers and palms. Which translates to soreness and inflammation and generally achy hands.
Yeah, we do this because it's fun, what can I say?
In other news, the winter jasmine in my bedroom has one blossom open. It smells wonderful already, and the cats have decided it must be cat greens in a convenient hanging basket. I should put it in the shower and give it a nice warm rainstorm. I should also clean that catbox, which doesn't smell as nice as the jasmine.
First, of course, I have to somehow manage to get out of this bed. Which, it turns out, is extraordinarily complicated.