I gave my apartment a good scrubbing and organizing, although you wouldn't know it if you looked at it now, what with the cradled MDF board in the middle of the living room and painting paraphernalia littering the faux marble fireplace surround, along with some discarded jackets and cardigans and a pair of cowboy boots in the middle of the main travel path and a run-on sentence in the middle of the computer screen.
I had a wonderful day, Sunday, but then Monday jumped up and smacked me in the head to remind me not to get too happy about life, just yet. Monday did so in a decidedly more vicious manner than it typically takes with delicate lil' ol' me.
In fact, Monday greeted me with a stab of pain when I first moved, which then became nauseatingly painful when I clambered out of bed to get dressed, and ended with the nausea deciding the battle between what I wanted to needed to do and what I could do. I got sick, crawled back into bed, regained strength to get up, dressed, and was 20 minutes late to a meeting at work. I explained my tardiness to my boss after the meeting, he was really worried, and he announced as much to my coworkers, thinking I'd gone home. When I insisted from the other side of my cubicle wall that I would be okay, he was amazed that, in my shaken and pale-with-big-blue-undereye-circle state I was still in my cubicle and was dead set on staying there through the end of the day. He seemed somewhat relieved when I told him that I was going to see my doctor Tuesday. But only somewhat.
So tomorrow I go see my doctor, and it will probably end similarly to the last time this happened, when I ended up having surgery and recuperating for a week or two. Closer to two. I'm hoping I can time this so I can recuperate using a couple of days from the Christmas and New Year's breaks, but we'll see if she can fit me in.
(Thanks to Randall Munroe for being brilliant and for writing xkcd. Original comic can be found at http://xkcd.com/218/)