My cold, though not a bad cold, has produced sinus congestion, which has produced vertigo symptoms. Dizziness whenever I look up. "Just like being drunk," somebody said awhile back, "only without the fun part." Yeah.
Feeling sooo tired and stuffy last night, I go into the basement to watch television and take care of some mail and maybe walk on the treadmill. The treadmill loses, but I do finish most of the mail. Hooray!
I decide that NyQuil, plus a little sleeping pill, will cure my ails. Though I am very annoyed to find that NyQuil's New Formula doesn't include a decongestant.
I go upstairs with my laptop. A coworker gave me DVDs of the first 3 season of Scrubs, so I watch an episode or two in bed.
When one episode ends, I find myself staring contemplatively at the screen, my chin resting on my raised first, wondering what to watch next. My eyes close. I am jerked awake by the sensation of falling out of a tree, my left arm swinging above my head to grab a branch. I frown up at my empty hand, lower it to close the laptop, and crawl under the covers.
I am startled awake by the sound of the phone. I sprawl out of bed, finding the clock: 10:43. "Wait," my befuddled brain asks, "10:43 in the morning? In the evening? On what day? I'm never awakened at 10:43, should I be at work?" I stare around frantically, but it is dark outside. It must be night. It must still be the same night I fell asleep, but how could I have fallen asleep so early?
I hear my answering machine downstairs answer, then I hear my Sweetie leaving a message for me. I pick up the phone. When he realizes I was asleep, he is deeply apologetic. "It's okay," I reassure him. "Nobody would ever ever expect me to be asleep at 10:43, it's just unthinkable."
We chat for awhile, then hang up. I pace about the house a bit, consider another episode of Scrubs, then eventually go back to sleep around midnight I'd guess. Still a pretty decent night's sleep when my alarm went off at 7:30am. Even if I still felt exhaustedly tired.
After work, dinner with girlfriends. No boys allowed, anti-v-day, as Tradition dictates. Delightful and fun and delicious. I always love hanging out with them.
Driving home I almost decide to go to Luna, but decide that getting home and resting would be better. Upon getting home, I talk myself into treading while watching Project Runway, because I haven't trod in quite some time. Three miles, though slow and (especially the last mile) kinda painful. Yay me!
Congestion leads to vertigo, and vertigo leads to nausea. Decongestants lead to sleeplessness. Not quite sure what, if anything, to take. Finally settle on 1 dayquill and some advil, right before the treading adventure. Perhaps cause of some stomach twinges on mile three.
After treading, bedtime,hooray! But first I must go into the kitchen and put something away. Turning on the light might have prevented me from stepping right on the edge of the cats' food bowl, spilling its contents all over my kitchen floor. But maybe I can blame this on my illness? Nah, just laziness in turning on the lights.
Mentally debate sneaking off and pretending the whole thing didn't happen. Sigh, pick up broom. Sweep food into pile. Set down broom, it slides off wall, nearly knocking over kitties water! Disaster narrowly averted, place broom firmly on wall. Scoop the majority of food back into bowl with hands. Good enough for now, walk away while apologizing aloud to any kitties nearby. Shoulda gone to Luna after all!
Bedtime. Go upstairs. Once again fail to turn on lights. Pick up sleeping t-shirt, and fumble in the dark for correct holes. It's on, but by feel my fingers tell me it is not just backwards but inside-out. This shouldn't matter when I'm sleeping alone in the dark, but somehow it does. I turn it forwards but leave it inside-out. Good enough.
Crawl into bed, lay on back. Woww, neat vertigo! Squirm into covers and pillows and stuffed bears, get them all arranged so they are surrounding and nesting me properly. Cold. Big cat comes up and lays next to me. Gently he places his paw squarely on my cheek. "My human," the paw seems to say.
I feel the cool roughness of the pads of his foot, and I think, "Kitty litter." I take his paw in my hand and try to just hold hands. He squirms, having none of that, replaces his paw on my cheek. We argue a bit, then settle into a "close but not touching" position, and he purrs happily.
I on the other hand, too squirmy, too cold, and too filled with journal stories, can't sleep. So I jump up to write these. I turn on the mattress heater to prewarm as I head downstairs.
I have more to say, but those I shall save for another night I think. With luck, it will now be warm sleeping time. Tomorrow is Friday, a working Friday, but a weekend, perhaps with some sleeping-in if I'm lucky, will follow.