I appear to have torn/strained a calf muscle. In the two weeks since it first started acting up I've gained five pounds.

Since I had to see the doctor anyway (to get a referral to PT, a fact that took an hour and a half on hold to discern), I got the blood tests done, six of them. To which my wife wanted to know if I could add two more. Sure. That's how it works when Lab Corps has an office in the building. "Hey, I know it's not on my chart but could you throw a couple more in for good measure?" Then I got to see the guy about the leg, and had to tell him that his about-to-graduate son shouldn't become a composer in LA because it's the only job I know of with shittier employment rates and reimbursement than screenwriting.

We have occupancy and licensure. Have done for two weeks now. The woman that was oh-shit gonna drop any day so we gotta hurry hurry hurry hasn't yet. Meanwhile my caterer said "let's set a reception for three weeks from now so we have some time to get things arranged" and then delayed a week and a half on getting me a quote. I don't understand. "I would like to give you money." "No, thanks, we don't like money around here."

All that to say, nobody is probing me, I don't have a list of six states I might be in in the next few weeks and I didn't post this on Facebook last night:

Success is accidentally making a rusty nail with Laphroag and not being too upset about it.

Now I gotta go mix a terrible movie by a very nice person, who was gobsmacked to hear I had to transfer 600GB of samples over to the new system. I haven't told him that's less than half of what I own.