Slain

I went to bed at 8 last night. ME! In bed by 8. This simply does not happen, ever. Yesterday afternoon I was struck down by pain. Unexpected. No warning. Oh, I shouldn't say no warning, the truth is I have a seriously high tolerance for pain, there could've been warning. I never notice until it gets so bad it knocks me flat. Yesterday afternoon I started to notice myself being knocked a little flat. I'm talking about passing out from pain, which sucks big time, because even then I could probably continue, work through the thing, if I wasn't fainting. Damn my family and our proneness to faint! Bad genes. So I took my sorry ass to bed so I wouldn't fall downstairs or do anything else to hurt myself. And I laid there until almost 5 this morning trying to find some comfort as the thing spread out finding my legs, knees, ankles, toes, arms, hands, fingers. Finally things calmed down enough to sleep for a couple of hours. All those hours in bed and I feel like I've been run over by a truck. A nagging ache in my right breast bone, my left fingers, the pads of both feet, my right thigh, but I think I can function at least. I'm going out. I'm getting some Ben & Jerry's or Hagaan Daz, whichever has the more delicious flavour in my local grocer's freezer. And I'm going to curl up in my warm fuzzy blanket with a Woody Allen dvd and self-medicate . . . right after I do some of this other shit people are counting on me to do.

Mood: exasperated
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Living Dead Girl, Rob Zombie
Hair: ponytail head