I woke up yesterday and couldn’t stand on both feet without falling over. The ball of my left foot felt like a piece of glass kept digging into it. This lead to me whining over twitter.

To overshare: in-between volunteering for an event firm around DC to help fill seats, check-in reporters (which has led to a rather fun bout of crushing self-doubt) and doing menial labor I’ve started the whole “going to a gym" thing. The local Y is near where I live and empty during the day. My work-out consists of “let’s see if you can move faster than a zombie for 30 minutes and then use a machine to pretend you can do a sit-up."

The 48 hours prior I was moving tables, chairs, signs and carrying cases of food everywhere; my initial fear was I sprained or bruised something. Then came the fear this was gout.

Gout scared me more than a muscle sprain. Not only because I’d join nearly three-quarters of the British Empire in a shared disease, but it sounds like something I shouldn’t get until I’m a tiny old man shaking his cane at the world. My diet for Saturday through Monday also consisted of beer, crabs, maker’s manhattans, beer, crabs, lobster tail and crab. (sidenote: harris teeter had an awesome seafood sale this weekend.)

Being unable to walk straight without shouting every time I lowered my foot a bit overshadowed my fear of diagnosis. So I kept my foot iced and raised and the pain mostly went away. A day later, there’s a dull pain but I can walk and lower my foot without much hassle.

That said I now continue to fear aging and how there exists a crippling arthetic disease dedicated to ending my enjoyment of liquor and cracking the exoskeleton of a boiled animal.

I mean, what the fuck biology?