My knees are healing nicely. The scabs have become so dried and hard that they are breaking themselves up into separate pieces, and falling off where the wound has healed completely. I've named them Pulau Satu, Pulau Dua, Pulau Tigga, and so on, as they really do look like little islands. It's like I have a miniature map of archipelago on my knees.

I guess that means I can go running again this evening. Hope the weather clears up.

In other news, am still powing through The Woman In White. Something that slipped my mind when I last mentioned Victorian literature -- they can get unbearably romantic. Which is just a nicer way of saying that Victorians are a bunch of mushy people. It came unexpected as the novel started off as a mystery, resembling a detective story, and all of a sudden, a quarter through chapter 9, without any warning signs at all, there's all the gushing about her beauty, her being, her whatever, and the whole lot of things typical of the Victorian confession of romantic attachment. It made my hair stand. Like, eek!

***

Yesterday, I was at the basement of Lot 1 where I witnessed the most impressive display of a kid's tantrum. He must not have been more than five years old, and he was creating a din, presumably demanding something from his parents. The parents did not give in, and in a classic move known to all who were once children, the kid sat on the floor and kicked around. It would not have been anything worth mentioning if not for the fact that he had sat down right in front of the escalator heading down to the basement.

Talk about strategic placement.

To the parents' credit, they didn't create a scene. The father quickly made a move to remove the kid from where he was kicking up a tantrum before anyone started demonstrating acrobatic feats of hopping over the kid.

I think there's no point to this, except to say that kids are such horrible things sometimes.