Leg raised. Mood lowered.

My sister brought me home from the hospital on Friday. Dan made me some lunch, then went out for two hours. He returned in a sorry shape. He was wasted off his head. Pot, I guess. I hope. I dunno. I didn't handle it very well. I freaked out on him, told him his timing couldn't possibly have been worse. I retreated upstairs to my bedroom and slammed the door, leaving him crying downstairs.

He called his mum. She got us to reconcile. The evening ended OK. But nothing was resolved. Nothing ever gets resolved.

Saturday was crazy. The phone never stopped ringing from 9:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. Friends. Relatives. Well-wishers, all. Many people dropped by with food, groceries, offers of help. Getting off the couch to answer the door seemed a great personal sacrifice for Dan. He moped around here all day. But he didn't get high.

My leg hurts like hell. I can't sit long at the computer because I need to keep my leg elevated to ease the throbbing. The doctor says the first week is the toughest. My foot and leg are swollen grotesquely inside the cast. So I won't be spending much time here posting updates. I wish I had a laptop computer with a cordless modem. But that's not gonna happen.

Time off work? Not a good thing at all. My sick pay, after I've filled out all the requisite paperwork and gotten the forms signed by a doctor (remember, I cannot walk. A trip to the doctor's office is an oddysey.), and after a two-week waiting period while the insurance company "processes" my claim, will amount to about 60% of my regular pay. So no, 6-8 weeks off work will not be a "good" thing. It'll be a stressful, unpleasant, painful, bloody hell of a thing, shut in this house with a boy who's 18, emotionally unwell, and a drug addict. Sorry for the pessimism, but right now, it seems accurate.

Maybe things will look better next week.