It's The Beatles, not something deep and/or thought-provoking. Not a blogging swan song or anything like that. Really. I just have this massive headache, like migraine-style, and while what I'd like to do is sit here and write a good post (and I'm gonna try) my head is alternating between wanting me to lie down, rub my temples until they fall off, and throw up. All I wanted was a fun little title, but going back to read it it sounded all bloggy-dramatic, and I may be a lot of things, but hopefully bloggy-dramatic is never one of them.
Is this a migraine? I hesitate to say that it is. I have never been a headache-y person at all, and I am afraid of doing a major disservice to all of you out there who get actual real migraines on a regular basis. I hear they can be totally incapacitating, and awful, and pretty much like being sentenced to a few hours of hell at a time. And I gotta say, although I am horribly uncomfortable and hovering on the stomach-fluttering edge of nausea, and although my head and neck feel like they are in a vice-grip, I'm still not sure this is a MIGRAINE.
I've always been a little scared to diagnose myself with something specific like that, unless the something specific is "a cold" or another normal ailment. Actually, I haven't ALWAYS been like this; in fact I think I naturally tend to be the opposite of this - always thinking I might have the worst case scenario diagnosis. However, with a doctor father whose favorite advice is always some variation of "walk it off", I have learned to make as little of things as possible.
For example, about a month ago, I completely ripped my big toenail off in what can only be described as a freak accident. I was opening the door from our hallway to the garage, holding the dog and one of the cats back with one of my feet, and paying very little attention to anything else. I swung open the door, just like you would do a hundred times a day, not knowing that somehow (still not sure how this is even possible) the metal weatherstripping at the bottom of the door was precariously positioned just below the edge of my left big toenail. The door swung open, and my toenail went POP! Just like a bottle cap.
And yet, I haven't even MENTIONED the incident to you guys (well, until now. and it doesn't even hurt anymore. just looks gross, wiggles like a loose tooth, and will soon fall off completely, leaving me with a horribly disfigured toe until the new toenail grows back. which, I am told, takes about four months). See? See how tough I am? I TOTALLY walked that one off.
In other news, November is nearly over, YAY. I was completely amazed to see myself following that awful schedule I posted on here a while back. Normally I write out schedules like that, horribly packed schedules where I somehow turn into a different person and accomplish 300 different things in the span of 5.3 minutes, and then the time comes to actually DO the schedule and I cross the first thing off the list (usually something easy, put there for my own encouragement, something like "eat healthy breakfast!") and then succumb to overwhelming laziness. Then, days later, I look at my list, all tattered and torn from being carried around in various back pockets of jeans, and laugh about how I ever thought I was going to clean my entire house, do five loads of laundry, take the dog to the vet, and attend the merchants meeting at my shopping center all before 11am. I mean, seriously. What time would someone have to get up in order to have any chance at that? I'm guessing "post-9:30am" is not the answer. Because I've tried that, lots of times, and let me tell you, I have not had what one might call blinding success.
I did, however, follow the aforementioned Awful Schedule, and I really kind of followed it down to the letter. It was a weird experiment, seeing my life all laid out like that and knowing what was supposed to happen every day and then SEEING IT HAPPEN. This must be what I always hear other people referring to as "responsibility" and "routine" and "normal". Not so normal for me, my friends. But it was interesting.
Speaking of routine and normal, I had a dream last night that I was pregnant. Now, before anyone gets any ideas, I am NOT pregnant, and while I have nothing whatsoever against the idea of OTHER PEOPLE becoming pregnant, that idea is NOT FOR ME. Apparently it wasn't exactly my cup of tea in my dream, either, as the last scene ended with me hitting someone across the face with a phone book when they answered my pleadings to "not tell anyone" with a smug "I'll think about it". As I read over that paragraph, I feel that my bigger concern with the dream should be the horribly violent undertones it carries, not so much the pregnant thing. Yikes.
I mean, a phone book? Geez.
Finally, in the most indicting example of irresponsibility of them all, my precious puppy, Lydah, has now become a lady dog. Meaning, she is having her Special Lady Time right now. Meaning, Mommy and Daddy didn't get her spayed in time. Bad parents. And no, we're not breeding her or planning to breed her, neither do we just enjoy cleaning up after a bleeding (sorry, I know, eww) dog or following her around frantically trying to get her to sit on this one blanket we have sacrificed for the cause.
And, since it took me approximately five minutes to remember the word "sacrifice" I have to announce that my headache has won, and I am ending this disjointed post. But, I love you, I am doing Secret Blogger Santa, and I am SO excited about who I drew and all the ladies I have "met" so far through doing it; I am happy to be back at home and back on my non-schedule, and I've got a great story for you, as soon as this vice lets up on my head. It's about an Eastern European U-Haul guy, who lives on-site at the U-Haul rental place, with 11 dogs and "at least 16, last time I count" (his words, not mine) cats and is very touchy.
I also got Guitar Hero III, for the Wii.
YOU ROCK!