My Toe Still Hurts.

I’ve had ups and downs, and for a day or two I thought it was totally fine, repaired, good as new; then it kept me up all night and I played zelda until 3am, which, all in all, wasn’t so bad: I dry swallowed some aleve, I took an edible that’s been drying in a tin for almost a year, I played video games. Once I did finally fall asleep I snored loud enough to drive Abby from the bedroom.

The worst part, I think, isn’t so much the pain, as the abandonment of the pleasure I took in thinking I had stumped this thing on my own, the way a medieval pesant might have. Someone before antibiotics, anyways.

I am no longer under the impression that I got this thing licked.
I think I might, given time, but I’m growing less sure of that all the time.
And used to the pain as I may be, it makes a poor bedfellow.

When the pain is enough that the weight of a blanket feels like an iron sheet, maybe urgent care isn’t so bad of an idea?
The anxiety of permanent damage is there and I think that’s what’s really drawing me to Barre, the nearest urgent care. If it were just pain I could put up with it. I’d even make a cool cane, hell, I still might.

A bit of hexagonal cherry with a twist of quartz at the top? Sounds cool. I just don’t know how to attach the quartz...