Though actually for myself, the real problem would be getting trashed the last two nights, and therefore being crabby and hungover during most of the day following. I have done some other stuff, but I've not been too happy to do it, honestly.

I can't write much of an entry now even, as I need to head out and see a man about a broken bone. Speaking of said bone, I found out the other day that if I'm really really careful -- like, place the foot down and slowly shift my weight that way -- that my bad ankle can now actually hold about half of my body weight.

That's right! Two-leggedness, in a couple of weeks or so here I come!

This is, of course, assuming the aforementioned guy doesn't tell me that somehow I've managed to heal up all wrong, and so I'll need to have surgery or have it broken and reset or any truly depressing thing like that. I swear, if that happened I would just give up. I'd come home and lay in my bed and refuse to get up till I was dead.

Because I honestly believe that would be the only reasonable response.

And hey, if you're not vaguely nauseous right now, you're doing better than me. So rock on wit'cher bad self.