“Extremely glamorous” is extremely stretching the truth this week. I mean, even more so than usual.

• I’ve been back at work, though in practice that means a sort of 10:50 split where I spend 10 minutes in every hour actually working, and then just have a quick break for a few minutes watching videos on youtube and oh hey 50 minutes have passed. I should write a book on my killer time management techniques.
• Most of my time outside of work has been spent on the sofa. Well, there, and on the bus to/from work, which has very inconveniently been diverted onto a long roundabout route due to roadworks. I can’t wait til I’ve recovered enough to cycle again. On the plus side, I still had black eyes this past week which meant that taking a seat on the bus felt like a totally justifiable “I need a seat, I’m injured” thing, rather than an “I’m too lazy to stand up” thing.
• While hanging out on the sofa, I’ve been re-reading the Hyperbole and a Half book (the blog, if you’re not already aware of it). I’m a bit spooked by how true it rings. For example, from the chapter “Identity part one”: “Being a good person is a very important part of my identity, but being a genuinely good person is time-consuming and complicated. You don’t have to be a good person to feel like a good person, though. There’s a loophole I found where I don’t do good, helpful things, but I keep myself in a perpetual state of thinking I might. The fact that I think about doing nice things almost feels like actually doing them. I get to feel all the good feelings without any of the inconvenience. It’s disgusting how proud of myself I am for things I’ve never done.” ALLIE BROSH PLEASE STOP WRITING ABOUT ME.
• Terrible photo, but one of the plants I was given bloomed this week and it looks really cool:
  

  I can’t believe I haven’t managed to kill it yet.

• I mentioned last week that the municipal police fined me for jaywalking. Which, honestly, I think is silly but I’m not too bothered by it. After all, I got a week in hospital for free, so you win some, you lose some. But now, the carabinieri (a different police force; do not ask me how Italian police forces work) want to talk to me. If you never hear from me again, it’s because they’ve decided to one-up the municipal police and arrest me for my jaywalking ways.