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Oh god, I hate physiotherapists.

Hate, hate, hate.

No, Mr Physiotherapist, I *can't* stand, one-legged (yes, the sore leg), on tippy-toes. Yes, Mr Physiotherapist, just like the ultrasound shows, that tendon is *broken*. Therefore, my foot no longer moves the way it used to, no matter how nicely my brain asks it to. Argh. 

Ache, ache, ache.

Suddenly remembered late this afternoon that I'm supposed to have Friday off, and when I reminded my boss, she told me to take tomorrow off, too, and get some rest. Aaaahhh. Four days of relaxing before I have to cope with city footpaths again. I never noticed how uneven sidewalks are in the city before. 

I have a sneaking suspicion my ankle will stop me from sleeping much tonight. Sigh. Think I'll lay in a stockpile of DVDs by the bed, just in case.

Nighty-night, sweet flist. Well. It's night here. Have a nice day/night wherever you are!


Do you realise how serious that is?

I do now.

And physiotherapists should have the equivalent amount of pain inflicted on them as they inflict on their patients ... just so they learn.