Friday night, Didgeridoo Boy and I went downtown to see Adler's Appetite. *Amazing* show. If they come your way -- GO. Just do it.
Not surprisingly, though, I woke to a persistent and highly damnable squee Saturday morning. My ears were ringing so that it was hard to hear anything else. After an hour or so of this, I got a brilliant idea: I decided to take a Hyland's Calms tablet. Would it help with the tinnitus? No. But it would knock me out so I wouldn't have to deal with it. So I popped my little pill, grabbed a cozy blanket and a pillow, and settled on the couch to wait to nod off.
But I didn't nod off. I got dizzy and started to feel *really* strange. Once I was good and violently ill, I realized I'd taken the thing on an empty stomach. Understand that I'm one of those medicinal weaklings who can be knocked out for sixteen hours by a pediatric dose of Benadryl. After several hours of sailing around the world on the couch, I got it together enough to make a big cup of ginger tea, and noticed so many interesting things about it that I'd never noticed about ginger tea before. At one point, I was staring into it with such interest that I almost dunked the tip of my nose. A little while later (not sure how long, but the little blue dude that was sitting on the couch at that time said it was about another hour, give or take), I was finally able to eat something besides the blueberry PopTart I'd been trying to nibble all damned day.
Yes, Saturday was, in fact, just a little bit south of being pure refried hell. Thanks for asking!
Didgeridoo Boy had a nice, long nap through the entire ordeal. He stumbled into the living room some time after 5pm, after my conversation with a Mountain Dew bottle about how great the sandwich I was finally able to eat had been, and just at the point that I most looked like a wild-eyed wraith. "What the hell happened to you?", he asked. It took a good while to explain it to him. He moved my feet over for me and sat down on the end of the couch. And there we stayed. I think.
I finally drifted off right at the beginning of a movie I'd really wanted to see, and woke up to the closing credits. Staggered (literally) off to bed shortly thereafter, and went into the blackest sleep of my life. Woke up Sunday morning wondering what the hell had happened and why there were lights on, thinking it was only a few minutes later. I walked around the house for a bit trying to put Saturday back together, got a cup of coffee, and firmly resolved to never take another of those little pills again, with or without food.
It should go without saying that I'll just deal with the squee if that ever happens again.
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