My feet are busted silly. Busted silly means bloated. My toes are Vienna sausages.
I had a specialist examine them after dinner and she said I need to drink a lot more water and to lay off the wine. She also said I should keep my walk short tomorrow. The crazy thing is, I want to walk!
I have two videos that need uploading but it’s taking way too long to do it today.
Damn it’s already 9:30pm. I should hop in my bunk.
I’m worried about my feet. I’m worried about my inability to take care of myself.
I always thought of myself as the perfect traveler. I roll with the punches, don’t complain, and I try to be helpful and outgoing for others and yeah that’s all true (because I’m super awesome), but I’m sliding into the far end of the scale where I’m starting to take risks. I take risks because I have this ridiculous mentality that all is well and will always be well. And on this far end of the spectrum, I don’t feed myself or watch what my feet are doing.
I have the “bring it on” mentality.
Having the “bring it on” mentality alongside the passiveness of “rolling with the punches”, is a dangerous combination for the body. It’s like skiing without health insurance or walking 500 miles without health insurance.
It’s like being 33 and never been to a OBGYN not once. What does OBGYN stand for anyway? It sounds nothing like a gynecologist.
I always thought of this side of me as Devil-May-Care, but maybe it’s devil-may-stupid.
I should sleep.
My foot specialist told me I should raise them up and rest them against the ceiling from my top bunk. I bess get started on that.