Apparently my right wrist is significantly stronger than my left. Or, rather, my left wrist is significantly weaker than my right. (I wouldn't want to give you the impression that any part of my body qualifies as strong...) I went to the gym yesterday, and ran the course of weight-training machines, making wild guesses at how much weight I could stand on any given machine. I think I did okay right up until the end, where there is one machine that has three different exercises associated with it, for different muscles in your forearm and wrists. I set the weight where I thought it should be, and did the exercises. I had to strain a little to finish them with the left wrist, but didn't think much of it - I'm right-handed, so it follows pretty naturally that my left wrist wouldn't be a strong.
But in the locker room, changing back into my street clothes, I noticed that the dull aches of an exercised muscle, fading slowly over most of my body, were slowly becoming more and more painful in my wrist. As the evening wore on, I came to realize that I'd strained, rather than merely pushed, my wrist. Dammit. So today I'm wearing an ace bandage in the hopes that a day of immobilization will help.
And apparently I missed a few muscle groups when I was stretching afterwards, because there are aches in my back and chest today that feel like dehydration and the flu. (However, those aches prompt me to hope that some muscle-tone will firm up a few things that have been sagging lately...)
The cat is still keeping us up half the night. For a while there, we could toss him outdoors when he started being a pest. From our bedroom, we can't hear him scratching at the front window, which is what he usually does when he wants to come inside, and we can sleep in ignorant bliss of his desires. (Don't look at me like that. When the weather is truly foul, we don't let him out. It's more like ignoring a child begging for a toy than real neglect.) But on Thursday last week, which I took off, it was such a beautiful day that I opened all the windows in the apartment, and the cat re-discovered the hole in the bedroom window. We discovered this Friday night, when we put the cat out, and an hour later he appeared at the bedroom window. We couldn't blithely ignore the sound coming from directly over our heads, and the cat didn't budge when we opened the door and called, so Matt had to go and get him. It happened again Sunday night. Last night, we simply ignored him altogether and didn't let him out at all until nearly dawn, but we're still not getting a lot of sleep. The annoying thing is that as soon as we've had our showers and dressed, the cat curls up into an adorable, cuddly little ball of fur and goes to sleep.
Argh.
Oh, well, I promised myself that I would really, truly, get some work done today, so I'd better get going...
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