Tonight I have the hot potato foot. You know what I mean? Suddenly your foot feels like it's about twice as big as it was in the morning, no longer fits comfortably into your shoe, and instead just sits there thrumming and throbbing, buzzing and bulging, and burning so that you feel like plunging it into a cold tub of water (as if that would help).
At the same time a large portion of my brain seems to have turned to cotton, and because of this my balance is off. Specifically, I cannot walk down the hallway without running into the walls along the way.
I'm not sure which of these is my favorite symptom at the moment. It's close.
Today I retired from my job after 20 years or so. So far I don't miss it. Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 56. Still a young buck. With a burning foot. On February 8th I will fly from the United States and turn up by and by in Bali, Indonesia, most probably never to return.
Jim Dandy, however, will endure--so no worries, folks. If ever the writing fades and disappears, you will know that the light has flickered and died.