journal.wiredreflexes.com

So, for a couple of years now, Ankle, Right has been giving me trouble. After I tore my ligaments for the second time, I finally got some physiotherapy, and I have to admit that while Ankle, Right is still weak, it’s a lot more stable than it used to be, and I can happily do flips, jumps and summersaults again. (Although, I’m not sure it could withstand a few hours of Parkour.) However, for the last few weeks, ever since my move to my new apartment, really, Ankle, Left has been giving me grief. For the longest time it felt like there was a small balloon right in the center of Ankle, Left that would expand inside it, each time I would pressure on it (like standing), but now that’s gone. Now it’s replaced with pain in my tendons and ligaments around Ankle, Left. It’s like the ligaments have been accidentally wrapped around a piece of bone or cartilage and are stretched to the max, so there’s no more leeway to them. It sucks. I think I’m going to have to forego on Kung Fu this weekend. It sucks. I’ll have to be a bit careful for the next few days to see where this is going. It sucks.

I think I managed to kill three out of the four plants in the apartment by not watering them. I haven’t had to take care of plants in a few years, and I generally don’t pay them any mind. I screwed this up royally. Let’s hope I can revive them with some TLC over the next few days.

I wasn’t very interested in cooking after a long day of work, yesterday, so I decided to make myself a sandwich. I ended up making the most fantastic sandwich I have ever fabricated. From these very hands I’m typing this post with, came a sandwich, bountifully packed with cheese, sauteed mushrooms, fried egg (over easy), a bit of mayonaise, some sea-salt and black pepper. It’s sad to think that when it comes to sandwiches I peaked so young.

On sunday the Dutch Junior Kung Fu Championships were held, in which we competed. Six students, divided over two age groups, competed in two different categories; the traditional fist form solo and the traditional synchronised fist form. We scored one gold medal, three silver medals and one bronze medal. Only one of our team didn’t make it into prizes, and we made him jog back home next to the car (that’ll teach him), and one was screwed out of the gold medal and had to settle for silver due to the usual tournament drama.

So it’s that day again, the celebration of Saint Nicholas’ birthday. Some countries do it on the 6th, but the Netherlands does it on the 5th. It’s a day where kids get told that if they behaved nicely the previous year, Saint Nicholas will bring them gifts and treats, but if they behaved badly, Saint Nicholas’ helpers – zwarte Piet or “black Pete” – will come and take them away to Spain.

As always, debates on the political correctness of black Pete will be drawn into question, as hordes of black Petes will be walking the streets, dressed in flamboyant and foppish clothes, with black shoe-polish on their faces, trying to appear like the Morish slaves Saint Nicholas – one time Bishop of Mira in Turkey – held in servitude.

Luckily, the people who give a damn about the political correctness of it all is a very small minority. Black people in the Netherlands don’t seem to give a shit about it, so I think that there’s where the debate should stop.

Meanwhile, I’ve got candy…