It’s NOT a Too-mah

Yes, we can reasonably establish that blogging, along with any other hobbies and personal interests that I have this summer are falling by the wayside, and no, I’m not happy with it. I’m also not happy with the fact that it’s well over 80 degrees right now, Pumpkin is in her room hollering (clearly, she’s attempting a nap boycott today and it’s going to become a battle of wills). I have to say, though, today my will is likely stronger.

I went to bed with a headache last night, and I couldn’t find my Tylenol PM. This is because my genius Hubby, who never puts anything away occasionally gets a bug up his butt to “clean” which involves moving things around to places that have no relation to the place where said things actually belong. Yeah, honey. Thanks. My Tylenol PM was MIA and I just decided to cross my fingers, hit the hay and hope that I would wake up refreshed, headache free and all of that good stuff.

I fell asleep hard, and had extremely strange dreams about running from the law with my sister’s ex-boyfriend. I have had very odd dreams lately – so odd that a friend suggested perhaps I inhaled too much second-hand pot smoke at Rothbury (could it be? I have no idea). I woke up at five a.m. with my head pounding so hard I was in tears. I stumbled bleary eyed to the bathroom desperate for any method of pain relief.

All I could find was Pamprin.

I squint at the bottle. Okay, it’s got acetominephin. That ought to do it (meanwhile, I was half thinking, “Great, the one time I’m not retaining water, and I take this – I’ll probably have to get up twelve times to pee in the next hour.”). I stumble back to bed where I lay down and the pain engulfed me. I started whimpering, so Hubby volunteered to get me ibuprofen from downstairs. No fool, I said, “Yes please!” and while he was gone, all I could think about was that maybe I was having a stroke.

You see, I read too much. You all know about my magazine addiction, how I read about 104 magazines monthly. Last month, I read something about a woman who had a stroke the day she had her hair done because she constricted her vertebra or some such while tilting her head back for a shampoo at the salon. Since yesterday I went to get my highlights touched up (thank you little sis) and I spent quite a bit of time tipped back into that sink, I got a little panicky. Oh my god, I’m having a stroke. I’m not going to wake up. I’m going to die in these ugly pajamas.

I never said I wasn’t a drama mama.

I woke up 90 minutes later to the sound of The Princess bringing me breakfast in bed. My headache was gone and I was able to sit up and chow on my lone piece of toast smeared with just a teeny tiny bit of PB (I ate breakfast #2 out of her line of sight 20 minutes later – I was still so hungry!). Relieved to have the headache gone and to not have died with the sound of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice in my head.

About sarah

Sarah is a book nerd, a music lover, an endorphin junkie, a coffee addict. Oh, and a goof ball. She writes, she tweets, and she sings off key.

Comments

  1. FarmWife says:

    Glad to know you made it through the night! I’m also glad my husband doesn’t clean. 🙂

  2. “a bug up his butt to “clean” which involves moving things around to places that have no relation to the place where said things actually belong.”

    Hilarious. Sounds like MY house, LOLOL!

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