Oof.

I have to say, it's kind of nice to be a position where your physiotherapist pokes you, you yelp and ask if you worked the right thing and hurt yourself, or worked the wrong thing, and she says, nope, you worked the right thing hard.

For that matter, last week I walked two and a half miles along sidewalks in ankle-ish uneven snow, went to pilates class that night, and didn't wake up immobile the next day.

Woo, progress.

At the moment, I'm sprawled on the couch with a heatpack trying to get my hamstrings to quit shouting about Wednesday evening's class*, and Mom's peering at possible replacement printers.

Now, the current printer's been annoying me for a while: only the bypass tray feeds, and it's been feeding crooked for at least three months (printing double-sided requires some serious baby-sitting and the occasional printer disassembly to get a page back out of the depths).

But my actual reason for looking at replacement printers is that I have this draft novel** sitting patiently on my desktop, waiting for me. >.>


*: bridges suck. Planks are getting easier, though. Ab work involves shaking like a leaf.

**: I edit to add that said novel is klgaffney's, not mine. I imagine there'd be a few more ' . . . wait, I seem to be done. Whut?' posts if it were mine. Also named_by_rhyme would probably have exploded with ALL THE POSTS as I played with drafts and used all of you as test readers. *solemn*