I got damn little done yesterday, in spite of plans to the contrary. I didn’t even cook, properly. Yesterday it was supposed to go something like this:
Bluebirds trill & sing. Bambi brings the To Do List, drops it at my feet. Somewhere off to the left, choral music swells triumphantly. In calligraphy beautiful enough to make angels weep, the To Do list says:
** make menu for week
** grocery shop according to menu
** clean and organize my closet
** clean and organize the master bath’s under-sink cabinetry so I can get the towels under there
** clean and organize the linen closet: remove towels & add blankets
** clean in the master bedroom: dust the furniture, put light quilt onto bed with fluffy pillows, vacuum
** finish organizing the kitchen drawers
** go through Tupperware; toss/recycle/donate any that do not have lids, are icky or both
** clean interior of fridge
** finish reading for government class; if feeling frisky enough start paper
** put together post for blog; if feeling frisky enough, do another for squirrel-like storage of future posts
Instead, what happened was:
Our Heroine is seen laboring over a weekly menu that is both healthy and tasty. She is checking web sites, cookbooks and putting things into an Excel spreadsheet.*
A gnarly, callused hand – obviously that of a minor demon – reaches out from stage left and whaps Our Heroine on the head, causing a searing pain to bloom behind her eyes.
At the same moment, a spiked maul comes whistling out of nowhere and pummels her across the lower back. The name writ across the handle of the maul, in the language of the Balrog, says “Dysmenorrhea, Goddess of Shrieks”.
Our Heroine collapses in a heap around her abdomen. She crawls off to the shower, there to down the potion of Advil and take in the scalding water of healing.
All…ALL I got done yesterday was the grocery shopping. And even that was kind of a blue-eyed wonder. By four in the afternoon, I had taken the “maximum safe dosage for a 24 hour period” of Advil and had moved onto Tylenol. I sincerely and devoutly hope that today goes better.
Also? I would kind of like it if I haven’t damaged my internal organs with toxic levels of ibuprofen. Pleaseandthankyew.
* – Yes, really.