February 20, 2009

Seven hours since I last wrote. There was little sleeping in those seven hours. Some strain or tear or deep bruise sustained by my big toe either at the Y or at rehearsal began to throb as I was going to bed, and when my shoe was off became agony, piercing and sickening, and no less for being one of those agonies that have very little to show for themselves, no visible wound, little if any swelling. No position was endurable, and no sleep possible. To make it worse, the exertions of the day, and my stupid failure to stretch, encouraged muscle spasms even more painful, if shorter lived. It took me minutes to find the right way to lie down in the bed. I couldn’t move the toe to experimental positions because my sides or thighs would light up in paralyzing cramps. When I finally had to get out of bed, at about 4, I had to dance around on one foot trying to defeat a leg cramp without letting my toe touch the floor. Soaked it in Epsom salts. I don’t know whether it did the toe any good, but a blast of heat rose through my body, bringing on sweat and the strangest tingling sensation. I thought I was going to faint. The sweat made me think I was having a stroke– though when I talked it sounded OK to me-- so I hobbled over for aspirin. I got maybe two hours of sleep as the toe eased a little and I turned the radio on for distraction. When I finally rose for the morning, the cats–or poor Jocasta–had vomited more than on any given morning, and I staggered around cleaning it up, afraid of spasms, afraid of touching my toe to anything, running out of paper towels before the job was done. Did get socks on, but a shoe sent me screaming. I’m supposed to meet Jason in and hour, and go to rehearsal in 5 hours. Oddly, the toe does feel a little better when it’s walked on than when it’s not, but a shoe is another matter. That has been my last seven hours.

The stock market is lower than it’s been in memory, and there is no reason why it shouldn’t go lower.

Denise S works for the Stanford investment billionaire who is now under arrest for fraud. All his assets are frozen, and Denise has to take calls from investors whose money is not available, without being able to tell them when it will be, if ever. Her old bosses phone the clients she took along with her and hiss, ”If you’d stayed with us, you’d still have your money.”