Just call me "The Gimp."

Depression, exhaustion, and deadlines aren't enough it appears. Instead, I must now also deal with excruciating pain.

Was taking some recycling down to the dumpster when my foot slipped off the steps (Capezio? That no-slippage statement about your dancesneakers line? You may want to revise it.) and hit the step below rather badly. It's never a good thing when you suddenly realize "hey, the inside of my foot is nearly touching the inside of my leg!"

Hence, I am now the gimp. Brenna at least seems to realize something's not all well with me at least, and she hasn't been pulling me around the room like normal. But otherwise, mobility limited for me for the weekend.