I don't have a bird to crap on me, like Steve,

so I have to do it myself. Metaphorically, of course.

Part the First
After the events of yesterday, between stress and lack of sleep, I was pretty much shot by evening. So I cleaned some things up, cleaned myself up, took care of some on-line stuff, and decided that I would now lay myself on the couch and anoint the body & soul with some Scottish Holy Water.

Part the Second
So I shut down the pc, picked up my 32oz. 7-11 cup half full of iced tea, turned out the light, and headed for the living room. And as I turned to corner my left foot hit the stool(that I DO NOT remember putting RIGHT THERE). This was closely followed by my right ankle hitting it, followed by my balance going completely away and my falling into the darkness. By some miracle I managed a fairly good breakfall, taking most of the impact on forearms(NOT my elbows or face, thank you God). This included the cup, never leaving my hand, striking bottom first, and the various laws of motion and energy demonstrated themselves by the contents moving vertically out of the container and then distributing themselves in various places about the living room. I lay there for about five seconds, then uttered the standard comment for such times("Well, @)#$*&"), and got up. The next few minutes were spent picking up and throwing out ice cubes, spaced about in an undoubtedly mystical pattern I had no damn desire to decipher, mopping up the tea, and then getting a new glass of tea, and finally plunking myself down on the couch.

At which time I looked at my left foot, with the blood seeping out from under the nail of my big toe, then at the skin scraped off my right ankle, then feeling the ache in my left hand from the impact it took. The shot glass was now filled with hydrogen peroxide and the leaking toe dipped in(all right, you figure out a better way), followed by my drinking directly from the bottle; not something I usually do, but it seemed called for here. Then, after about three shots and a few minutes, I dragged myself up to bed.

Part the Third
About 3a.m. a storm woke me up, so I hobbled down the stairs to pee, then decided to make sure all the windows were closed up on the windward side of the house; things had cooled off enough in the evening that I'd turned off the a/c and opened them up. So as I hobbled through the bedroom/office to the window, my left foot contacted- toe first, of course- the ammo can sitting beside the table.

"@(*^%% #*() &!%$#!!"

After making it back to bed, I went back to sleep. Or passed out, whichever.

Part the Fourth
Wherein I wake up this morning and get out of bed. My foot is as sore as you'd think, it turns out I also whacked my left knee on the floor and it doesn't want to bend, my left hand aches, and life is just so sunny I'd like to puke.

So I've been hobbling around all day like a refugee from somewhere nasty, and if I didn't have to meet someone this evening I'd flop in the house and commune with John Barleycorn again, but at greater length.

And how has YOUR morning been?