I went to the podiatrist today. Diagnosis: Morton's Neuroma. Go ahead. Google it. Not much good news there. It seems all roads lead to surgery. The conversation goes something like this, "Well, first we'll pad it, then we'll shoot it and if that doesn't work, we're gonna have to cut it, but the padding and the shooting doesn't usually work, so good luck with that." He stabbed me with a cortisone shot before I could even protest effectively. I wish my feet would go back to normal. There's a dinner dance coming up and I'm going to have to wear a gown to cover my crocs. It feels like I'll never dance again. The pain and drudgery of my condition this past week has sucked all the life out of me and I don't want to do anything at all. I'm going to watch Reaper and pretend my foot isn't still cold and tingly. Signing off.