Been chained to the art table like a back-up singer to Rick James' radiator. Man, I'm feeling the effects of trapped days in a windowless room scratching out art to various time-sensitive tasks. Busted and broken and buried these days. Too tired to allow myself a proper shut down for respite and recreation [and healing]. My off switch is locked in the on position and I'm running on reserves. My mind races and dominoes too much. But, yeah, feeling it in my back and legs and my drawing hand and the bottom of my left foot where I landed 22 years ago, creating a spiderweb of fractures along my heel; tearing and twisting my ankle ligaments. And, if I don't lay on top of my right knee like how I want to when I go to sleep, then maybe my Frankenstein patella won't slip and displace like it loves to do before I pass out. It's a lucky night of sleep when I don't wake up to a Charlie Horse. What the heck ARE those anyway?