It’s only 10am, day two of my house arrest and I’m already bored out of my mind.
In the past twenty-four hours, I have watched Slumdog Millionaire, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Dylan Moran’s What Is It show, drawn Audrey Hepburn, organised my emails, checked Facebook a dozen times and eaten half a block of dark chocolate (amongst various other self-pity foods). So, why my sorry state you ask, dear reader? Well, it all started with a sip of sangria...
...and ended very quickly with my spectacular fall down a step to the bathroom.
I sure hope this falling down steps business doesn’t turn into a habit for me. To be fair, this step – yes, one single darn step – was concealed behind a heavy door and a miniscule “mind your step” sign in a very dimly-lit restaurant. Still, here I am, sitting at my desk with my legs raised above heart level and my left ankle wrapped and iced and rewrapped. It’s not broken; it just resembles a Christmas ham with toes poking out the end.
Rotten timing, really (or terrific, depending on how you like to fill your glass), having just finished two huge assignments and started mid-semester holidays. I can hardly stand up to shower or cook, let alone go shopping and dancing. Did I mention that I live in a two-storey house and have to jump on a plane to Melbourne tomorrow? This is going to be a long week...
