Husband dude actually got home on time yesterday evening. He has been staying at work a good three to four hours past quitting time as they work out the kinks in the new Radiology department. He stopped at the pharmacy to get my drugs, I fed him some nasty grass-fed cow patties (meat, not poop), then he went to bed. At 6:45pm. Sheesh. I turned the lights off and made sure the alarm was set on his phone, but his actual alarm clock is foreign to me. I have no idea how the damn thing works, so I also set the alarm on my phone, confirming 10 times that it would go off when I wanted it to, and not 12 or 24 hours later.
I had my pain medication, so I should have been able to sleep, right? Right?! Ha! Of course not. I ate enough chocolate chex to put myself into a carb coma, then tried sleeping again. Since I was so concerned about making sure my husband made it to work on time, I kept almost dozing off, then jerking myself awake to check the time to confirm I hadn’t overslept. I did this until about 3am, then decided fuck it, I’m getting up. I started the flow of coffee around 4am, then by 6am, I had a cactus up my ass about how disgustingly dirty the kitchen floor was.
I swept the floor with a broom, sucked up the piles of crumbs and dirt with the vacuum, then grabbed the Swiffer. Everyone cleans their kitchen floors at 6:30am. This isn’t at all abnormal. I mopped and was totally dying while doing it. Every single muscle in my body was on fire, my back was spasming, my POTS was POTSing, but I kept going as those little white stars danced around in my eyes. I was nearly finished when I knocked a box of tea off the counter with the swiffer handle. Faaaaack. As I was bending down to pick it up, my left thigh completely seized up, then my legs gave out. Tiiiiiiimberrrrrrrr! Yep. I fell in my kitchen. Again. Ouch, my knee. Ouch, my everything else. I’d say ouch, my pride, but that is long gone. Bruises are pretty, and ice is nice.
My kitchen floor is clean, and it only cost me a patella!