believe it or not, though you'll probably believe it, i got my foot caught in the revolving door exiting the subway this morning. i think my foot moved too slowly in relation to the rest of my body and my boat shoe was knocked off and my heel ended up getting thwacked by the oncoming door blade. no blood, but a deep skinning and excruciating shooting pain. i near doubled over in the street. i spent the day attempting to set up for the show despite not being able to bear weight on my left foot. aka lots of standing and staring blankly at things that needed to be assembled. the funny old irish man who runs our workshop alternated bringing me packets of advil with imitating my limp.
i thought about cabbing home but then decided i was too poor for that and hobbled my way home. i came back to renee zellweger's house and made delicious eggplant tofu and ate two men's share, maybe because i didn't burn the rice for the first time in forever. and then i "rested," "relaxed," and "healed" by doing things in variations of prostrate positions: eating pistachio ice cream, eating expensive chocolate with chocolate nibs courtesy of the tribeca people, drinking lots of cab sav, and stitching holes in my clothes, which i seem to do ridiculous often in new york and which makes me feel like a crafty street urchin.
i thought about cabbing home but then decided i was too poor for that and hobbled my way home. i came back to renee zellweger's house and made delicious eggplant tofu and ate two men's share, maybe because i didn't burn the rice for the first time in forever. and then i "rested," "relaxed," and "healed" by doing things in variations of prostrate positions: eating pistachio ice cream, eating expensive chocolate with chocolate nibs courtesy of the tribeca people, drinking lots of cab sav, and stitching holes in my clothes, which i seem to do ridiculous often in new york and which makes me feel like a crafty street urchin.
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