Monday, April 9, 2018
Anyway, had another one of those yesterday. It was a blast. Everyone should have them, and by everyone I mean all male doctors I don't care if you're a plastic surgeon, guys, you should have one of these babies, medical research should be RIFE with people going, "Oh, hey, remember when they made us have pain that almost had our heart stop? We should find a way to make that better, right?"
Yes. I agree.
By the way, I think the murder rate would drop if this happened, because my thoughts were SO DARK before that cramp hit. I was pretty sure Mate hated me and I was ready to sue for divorce with an extra kick in the nads for good measure because I wasn't sure why I hated life, the universe and everything with such passion I knew it was completely HIS FAULT. I have to tell you, I woke up from that nap, had some chocolate and a sandwich and went, "My Mate is the BEST and I love him SO MUCH! I can't imagine why I was so mad at him this morning!" Okay-- we were going to see a soccer game at nine in the morning in the middle of April but we do this year, so maybe I can imagine a little bit, but soccer doesn't usually make me homicidal. Saying.
Also, today, I went walking with Mate, and Mate goes WAY FASTER than me because he's much fitter and doesn't waddle, and so when walking through the mud I was trotting to keep up with him and (WHHHHH) my foot slipped and (OOOOOOAAAAA) I fell sideways to the earth (AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH) with the slow and stately grace of a giant fat-laden oak tree (HHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMM) through a pool of Jello. (MMMMMMMPPPHHHHHHHHHHAAAHHHH...)
It was fun. (PFFFFFFT.)
Mate was, of course, watching in horror, holding the dogs, unable to help me because then I'd take him out and it's not like he doesn't have his share of weak knees and jammed thumbs and shin splints and sore joints too, and there's nothing like two middle aged people rolling around the mud going, "Help! I'm old and my dignity is dying and getting up is going to make me fart!"
It was really much better that there only be one of us, and the other could step in and offer a hand up. (I managed to have breakthrough bleeding through four layers while I was rolling around--and yes. My dignity died a sad, sad little death in the mud on the path of the dog park, why do you ask?)
So I came home from that and my head was pounding--probably neck strain from when I hit--and I took two motrin and went to bed (because it worked for me yesterday, right?) but Squish was at her friend's house to play. Why would this get in the way of a glorious life giving nap, you ask?
Because ZoomBoy was ALL ALONE.
Alone. All by himself. HIs father was working on the car. Nobody to talk to. All. Alone.
Except for coming in to talk to me every five minutes until I curled up into a miserable achy ball and begged him to, for the love of holy Jebus and Sexually Inexperienced Mary, PLEASE go away.
He did, and I did get that nap-- but it was about an hour longer than I'd planned to make up for the unscheduled stops. I woke up feeling better and that's something, but I'm way more tired than I should be right now and I have (I repeat) so. Much. To do.
I should have had acres of time to write and do work this weekend--I SHOULD have. I expected to stay out late Friday-- we took Squish and her friends to Chinese food, and then we went to the movies. I FINALLY got to see Black Panther, and Squish & Co. got to see Island of Dogs. A good time was had by all and there was even a sleepover last night and that's good too.
But the rest of my weekend was eaten, it felt like, by unexpected trips to Camp Ragnarok and the surprise benefits of rolling around on the ground and trying not to bleed and fart and failing sadly on both counts.
The good news is, now that the hormones have faded, when I'm done writing I can curl up next to my Mate with a good heart and fall asleep tonight.
After I take some Motrin, of course.