Today was January cold and December dank. My massage was at the end of the day and so she was much less thorough than if it had been earlier, thus I still hurt. Here in the side bedroom the windows have double glass (though not double panes) and then special fitted plastic sheets over them, originally designed to shut out noise at houses near airports: and I still feel a draft coming from somewhere. It's supposed to be above freezing next week, but not much above, when what I need to break this winter wanhope is the usual average 10C and a little sun and a return to shoes. I'm back to playing Musical Boots: drop a kilo of water weight and my boots are too big and chafe me so I must use the smaller ones; put it back on and my boots are too small and pinch my toes and I must put my orthotics back in the larger boots.
Four more months of this, I tell myself, and six weeks of whatever kind of spring we get, and then I'll have the operation and possibly not be crippled any longer. Well, not be knee crippled: the elbows and shoulders and possibly the hip as well are another matter entirely.