I slept for damn-near 12 hours. Eh, probably 11, but I can dream.

The foot is actually a bit "better". There is no longer a golf ball-sized bump...now it's just really sore and bruised. Still can't really walk on it. If I go anywhere other than home today, I may have to use crutches. And I'm going to have to have Mama or Fayanne do a lot of stuff for me.

Grr...hate being dependent!


Had some really fucked up dreams. There was me sleeping with a male prostitute. Me smoking pot. Me stealing a harness from climbing. Me running away from cops. Me trying to run away from Hannibal Lecter while searching a random school for an empty class room with a sink where I could burn the remnants of the joint ("destroy the evidence" and all that jazz). Fucked up, yo. I think the best was Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal trying to eat us. *shudder*

Me and my cracked out mind are going to find something to do that doesn't involve moving so much. Maybe a movie and eating cookies.

And keeping the foot elevated. I think that actually helped a lot.