I've slept a hell of a lot. I think the shock and embarrassment of yesterday's fall did me almost as much harm as the actual injury. The suffocating humidity isn't helping much, either.
The pentultimate loopy episode of DOCTOR FOSTER continued compulsively absurd. I have fears for the life of the tormented teenage son...
I'm still barely able to shuffle about, and bending is a no-no
Haven't seen or heard from R Next Door since early Monday. I feel sure that poor old Lula Dawg has passed, but I've felt that way several times before. I'm afraid to try and speak to R, if she's there, as I'm too enfeebled to cope with any more agita at the moment. Maybe I'll just drop a note through the door. She's probably staying at her pal's, anyway.