Thursday, February 17, 2011

Hittin' The Hard Stuff

Coming from the home I did, I do not keep much in the way of medicine around the house.  We do not run to the doctor for every little sniffle, and when we do I am very cautious about meds being thrown at a problem.  Don't get me wrong, if the Papooses or I need them, I am all for it, throw that medication at me, doc.  Just as a general rule, I try to limit the amount of pill poppin' that goes on around the tepee.

Therefore, anytime one or more of us gets sick, it's an automatic that someone needs to hit the store for whatever medicine we may need for relief.  That someone is usually me, but last night Mister Wonderful was out and about and I asked him to bring me some Advil.  He actually did it!!!  He didn't 'forget' like he usually does when asked to do something not directly for himself or his comfort.

Let me tell you something, ok??  Are you paying close attention here????

Never, and I mean NEVER take medicine in the dark without reading what the h*ll you are taking.

There is a distinct difference between Advil and ADVIL PM.

By the time he got home and I stumbled in there to take a couple, it was almost 11:00pm.  Although I woke up at 2:00am for some reason and couldn't fall back to sleep for a couple of hours, once I did, I slipped into a near coma.  I drooled.  That's how knocked out I was.

I  don't drool.

By the time the alarm clock went off this morning none of my muscles would react when my brain asked them to.  Hell, my brain was having a tough time figuring out what language it should function in to even make the attempt to communicate with my body.

The warm fuzzy blanket that I had slept under had somehow grown in volume until it must have weighed half a ton, I couldn't move it any more than to pull it up over my shoulder and snuggle down into it.

I was finally able to drag my zombie as* out of bed and stumble to the kitchen to make some coffee.  Tripped over the cat on the way there and one of LabPups squeaky toys on the way back.  Wound up in Papoose #2's bedroom instead of mine, played it off like I was in there to wake her up, wandered back to my room dragging my hand along the wall for support and to attempt to avoid getting lost in my own house again.

I don't remember getting to work.

I think I have all my clothes on, but really couldn't swear to it in a court of law.

Still drooling.

1 comment:

  1. I hate it when I wake up at work and don't remember getting there.
    On a more serious note. We need a picture of you right now to verify the clothes thing.
    On a second more serious note. I hope you get to feeling better soon. It's more fun reading when your raising Hell about something!