It’s February 2011.
I am completely in denial of that and insist on recording “2010” whenever I have the opportunity. Unfortunately, much of my recording is done on computer and computers get cranky when I put the wrong date in. I’m not able to search for flights in 2010, for example. I create chaos in emails when setting up meetings that require time machines. My answering machine sounds like I’ve fallen off the face of the earth or been on maternity leave.
Time is passing and my poor brain has to catch up.
My left knee, however, appears to be over-compensating.
I have, until very recently, been able to tolerate all manner of discomfort with minimal detriment. Aside from movie theatres (which are damn uncomfortable), my joints have been fairly forgiving things. But my left knee has taken up an ache if I sit cross-legged for too long. My left foot has discovered the joys of growing its very own bunion. And now, today, my left index finger is protesting the fact that I peeled four apples for dessert this evening.
I know, I could just shut up, take an ibuprofen and get on with it. But, like the fact that it’s 2011, I am pointedly in denial about the aches. They are simply unacceptable. Inappropriate. Inconvenient.
I am not getting any younger.
No matter what year I write on my work.