Broke and broken.

So, I'm falling apart.

I have a gimpy ankle, achy legs, a snotty nose and runner's knee. I'm waiting for the rocking pneumonia to hit.

It's massively frustrating to be so afflicted, especially when there's so much of interest going on. Let's recap, shall we? In the past five days, I went to Kingston, purchased delicious fig and anise bread (who knew?), ate and drank splendidly, drove home, attended the Rogers Cup, saw lots of white people, saw York University, enjoyed tennis, ate ice cream, broke in my new hiking boots, broke in my new running shoes (I'm so ergonomic!), made veggie chowder, wrote several thousand words of copy, slept too much, worked too much and foolhardily attempted to run. Oh, and I reunited with my ex for the first time in six months (and for the first time as exes). Seems a lot, doesn't it? Or does it? Perhaps my broken physique is skewing my sense of perspective.

All will soon be well, however. In a mere nine days I will be on a very expensive plane in very expensive gear headed for a very expensive outpost on the way to a very expensive river. It's a good thing I've spent the last few months getting so jazzed about Nahanni, otherwise the financial destitution it's wreaking would make me depressed, and I don't know if my body in its current state can handle that.