Yesterday was a day from l'enfer . . . if you'll pardon my French.
I feel like I've been chewed up (by Cerberus, the 3-headed dog who guards the place), spit out, beat up, tortured and left to drown.
It all started on Monday. I went to a weight class with HH--nothing wrong with that. Tuesday night my muscles started to ache, and this lasted--well, they still ache.
Wednesday morning I started working at 0315, same as always, even got an hour off from 0500 to 0600, but at 0615 my phone shut down, my computer shut down and I had one hour to either fix them or get to Sandy and work from the Center.
I neglected to write down the time at 0615, and was deep in the throes of talking to the Xmission guy and trying to get the computer to reboot when I should have been winging my way South.
I was 21 minutes late, and for this I will get black marks.
When I finally got home, I had to take Red-Haired Daughter to her orthodontist appointment. I didn't have time to get soccer socks for Small Son to go with his kilt and he was sad. I did get a nap in for about 90 minutes, and Dear Mother-in-Law cooked a lovely Chinese dinner for us all, and I whisked off to band practice.
Except the meds hadn't kicked in yet, and I was in my "couldn't-finish-a-sentence--or-a-tune" mode.
This was the last practice before competition, and I really needed to participate, so I stuck it out. I kept messing up, and Jason kept noticing, and by the time practice was over at 8:30 pm, I was pretty much OK.
I'll probably be cut on Saturday because of this. Oh, well. I'm prepared.
Jason ran us through both sets about 5 times each, and my lip and jaw (?) are pretty sore.
My head and my eyes hurt from scrambling to reboot the computer again this morning because it was all non-functional when I woke up, and I really didn't want to drive to Sandy again today.
Small Son got sick in the middle of the night, too.
Arms, legs, head, eyes, lip, jaw, Small Son . . .
Whine, whine, whine. Just shut up and do your job.