Doc called me last night at like 8pm. He's got a DVT - big ass blood clot - in his leg. If he doesn't listen to the docs and tries to get up on his own or whatever the thing could dislodge, move to his lungs and kill him. *sigh*.
I'm going to get in the bath now, then go over there and try to explain the importance of this to him, hopefully he will effin listen.
Last night I cleaned my bathroom, which always fucks my back, then pilled myself up, read magazines in my bed for a couple hours while I listened to Elliott Smith, then fell asleep. Woke up every hour on the hour almost, it was totally weird. But somehow I feel well-rested. Or maybe this is just defeat?
I'm going to hide out again tonight, clean the rest of the apartment, play with my fuzzies, pluck out a few songs on the axe, make something yummy for dinner... Yeah, that's the plan.
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