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My stomach sounds like a whiny dragon is stuck in my abdomen. I think Robby just said that he had to have his cast for three months. I donapos;t know why he would, because Itapos;s one clean fracture. I broke mine in three places and argued it down from a month to two weeks. Given, I donapos;t want him to do that because itapos;s his dominant hand and heapos;s an artist (the wrist is much closer to the hand than the elbow, and my handwriting is still suffering from how much I blew things off last year, and Iapos;ll never be able to lock my elbow again). But, somehow I donapos;t think three months is entirely necessary. Heapos;s going to drive himself nuts, for sure.

I long to run around in the woods with a camera and be able to get to smoking areas on my breaks in good time and ride roller coasters with ease after work. I want to be able to wake up and not lay wide-eyed in pain for an hour before I can actually get up, I want my left foot to stop shriveling and dying, I want to be able to run.

Me, I, Cat Sweet wants to be able to run. I would run a mile every single day if it meant that my leg would get better now. This is coming from the girl who ran one quarter of the track and then walked across the field to her gym teacher and said "Thatapos;s all you get. Iapos;m going inside now."
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