Foul Temper

I am in a bad fucking mood. Today sucks.

I injured myself yesterday. Twice, apparently. Doing stupid stuff.

First, I fucked up my foot playing frisbee. We were playing barefoot, and I rolled up my jeans so I wouldn't step on them. Then, while running, I caught my right big toe in my left pants cuff, and busted something on the top of my foot. It didn't feel that bad - like a stubbed toe, basically - but got a lot worse as the day wore on.

And then, since I'm an idiot, I climbed on it. Three times. It did not like that, no it didn't Precious, but I did it anyway. Just to show it who's boss, I suppose.

And in doing so, somehow busted my hand. I don't even know how. It just started hurting, and hasn't stopped. Curiously, the pain is exactly in the corresponding location on my hand as it is on my foot. So clearly God is out to get me via the tendons on the back of my starboard extremities. Asshole.

So vacation starts early for me, it seems. No Crossfit today, which sucks because I've been wanting to try running 5k for a while. And it looks like I'll have to call off climbing tomorrow with Tor, which I'm deeply unhappy about.

And to top it all off, our cat got in a fight this morning and landed us a $400 vet bill and a messed-up leg. So he's unhappy, I'm unhappy. At least Rebecca's doing OK.

She gave a good rundown of 'To the Limit,' though I think she was too generous to the filmmakers and their fascination with Lebowskiist Philosophy. I swear, I was ready to reach through the camera and start smacking Dean Potter around if he uttered one more tortured metaphor about climbing as a means of spiritual expression. I mean, Dude.