Huh. When I went to sleep yesterday I didn't think I would sleep quite that long.
The quiet absence of exciting drama, romance, porn and general nonsense around here this week has been a blessing. I have been felled by the mother of all headaches and barricaded myself in the bedroom to sleep in one of you-know-who's big t-shirts and an ice pack, ignoring phones and doorbells and Jacob and Lochlan's newest boyfight. I'm still shaky and my head still hurts.
My absence means that my kitchen saw no action other than toast and coffee but all the take-out menus are stacked on top of the fridge with the cordless phone. So at least they ate.
Me, not so much. I would wake up and find plates that I would ignore and then go back to sleep and they'd be gone again. I've been rescheduled with Claus for Monday first thing because you don't even want to know what they say about sleeping this much and headaches and tension and stress and general apathy of this magnitude.
They say it's dangerous. Me? I don't care one way or another.
The irony.
It isn't lost on me now.
I really wish my brain would cooperate.
