Pothole

John and I went out last night. He decided to visit Seattle and asked if he could sleep at my house for a night or two, grudgingly so, I agreed. The concert plan was aborted (I’m sorry Lennon) so we went bar crawling instead. The night itself was uneventful, except for the walk home.
After leaving the last bar (Bleu, right on Broadway), while crossing the street I tripped on a pothole and before I know it, was laying face down in the street.
I swear to god I’m all that is class.
I semi-hobbled home, with ripped jeans (my favorite pair too!), bloody knees, a bruised ego, and serious pain in my right ankle. Went to bed soon after and woke up this morning in more pain then I’ve ever felt before. I couldn’t move or even hobble, and the walk to the bathroom (about twenty feet, roughly) left me in tears. I took a belt, and ice pack, and some medical tape and made some sort of frankenstein type construction on my leg and came to work.
Admittedly, last night I drank a lot, well, not a lot but enough, but I don’t think that was the reason I fell anyway.. I have no balance, this is nothing new. I called my mom this morning and she told me that she fell down the stairs a few days ago. I’m included in a very special bloodline, it appears.
Tonight I’m going to go home and then attempt to find an urgent care that isn’t too far from my house, because I’m pretty sure I have nerve damage or a broken something or other.
As far as John goes, it was strange being around him. I saw him in October when I went home, but only for about two-three hours. He’s .. John, I guess. As much as I don’t like him, theres this feeling between us that’s just really comfortable. It’s nice, but man.. he still really pisses me off, it’s probably best for everyone involved that he’s leaving today.
I’ll keep you updated on what happens, with the foot that is.

Mindy-0:Seattle-1