Foot Don't Fail Me Now

I must have slept ten full hours last night. Two straight nights of constant screaming foot pain have kept me up to where even Tylenol PM doesn't knock me out through it. But last night without pain meds I managed to sleep more or less a really damn long time, and holy smokes that felt good. I guess my plantar fasciitis is inflamed again, which means I gotta start using the frozen water bottle in my freezer under my arches once more, and all other annoying stretch exercises. But a part of me is tempted by the corticosteriod shot, as unlikely as it is for somebody as phobic about needles as I am to say something about that. But it's safe to say that the pain is really beginning to cut into my overall quality of life. Being on my feet all day at work (grateful for the longer hours, but murder on my fallen arches) doesn't allow me to do much after work hours. I left the Jello Biafra gig early last Saturday because the pain was getting unbearable. And I was thinking about attending an art show in Ghent Friday night and seeing The Master Plan at 37th & Zen Saturday night, although I could probably easily sit during that show so long as I arrive early enough to find a table. But you see what I mean.

Oh, The Master Plan consists of local Paul Johnson formerly of Norfolk's own Waxing Poetics, with Andy Shernoff of The Dictators and Manitoba's Wild Kingdom, and Keith Strong and Bill Milhizer from The Fleshtones. Obviously Paul's presence will bring out the old school locals, and the Dictators/Fleshtones thing will bring out... well, me I suppose. But Rachel already asked me to come awhile back, and I think Mike is sitting in on drums for the opening band, or sumthin'. So if I can scrape together the eight bones for the door I suppose I'll make my presence known. AND if my foot holds out.