*shifts painfully against the pillows propping him up* *hasn't moved much since being deposited on the couch in the early morning hours, with his bad knee elevated and iced (and the rest of him feeling like it deserves the same), but it's impossible to get comfortable when the only pain meds the concussion allows for aren't nearly strong enough*
*mumbles from beneath the cool cloth draped over his face* Have s'm stuff t'take care of... house 'n stuff. Hafta get Mabel. She hates Mac.
(*doesn't have the words or the will to explain that what he really needs is a day in which to outright drug himself into oblivion, because this drifting in and out of a restless (nightmarish) doze is doing nothing for the exhaustion, never mind the pain*)