Friday night.

I have no idea after how long i went out to socialise. I felt like a turtle emerging from its shell, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, like a marmoose...never mind, you get the drift.

It was a hip-hop party. And in keeping with the theme, i wore a black dress with a slightly plungy neckline covered up by a series of strings of silver pearls. And i wore silver pencil heels.

And i danced. And danced and danced and danced.

And i died. Because i made a grave error in judgement - i wore heels and danced thinking i could take it. As a matter of fact, i couldn't.

My legs felt like they were full of tiny soldier corpuscles that were tearing through my muscles in their fight to emerge into daylight. They hurt like mad. They're still hurting, which is why i've taken so long to post this.

And i think i bust my right knee in some way. I can't step too hard, otherwise i collapse like a ton of bricks.

Bottom line, never wear heels and dance. Especially high pencil heels. Especially when you know you're no longer 21 and 52 kilos. Glamour can go soak its fucking head, just be comfortable because remember, you have to live in your body for the rest of your life. And i can assure you that right now, my body's not too happy with me or my brain.

On the brighter side of things, the party was good fun, like a coming-back celebration. I'm half-out of my comfortable, numbing shell now; it's only a matter of time before the other half comes out.