Just as I'd decided that my life was a mess and that I was utterly Depressed [note the capital 'D'] and I was in need of, in no particular order, tranquillisers and alcohol I regained my joie de vivre. I'm actually a little pissed off about this. I wanted pills. I still want pills. I'm not sure I want pills for the right reasons but I want pills.
I'm still chronically exhausted though, a situation only exacerbated by the fact that my spazzie walking style as turned into spazzie-old-lady-with-arthritic-hip walking style. I am sexy, oh yes, I am. The hip, though, hurts and kills my sleep. I'd just like to mention to those who say that turning thirty isn't so bad that I am an old freakin' lady at twenty-nine. So not cool.
I finally saw a doctor about the latter and she mentioned the dread word 'orthotics'. I have had visions of myself stumping about in shoes with soles of different thicknesses, and very thick indeed, and leg braces like Forrest Gump. I know I'm over-reacting and that bones once grown will not straighten and that I won't require callipers. Still...
My mother and I have a continuing disagreement about my legs - it's one of the two unforgiven things that I will probably always hold against my parents - I think they should have been broken and remoulded when I was a child but my parents chose the she'll-grow-out-of-it-route. I've walked like a spaz for several decades and now it impacts my health [not to mention the remembered torture of all PE classes I ever attended]. I think I win.
Oh and discussion point for the ladies: women's shoes, so totally not made for walking in [except for the granny-aged lesbian librarian subclass] - thoughts?