Survival of the fittest

I would be dead. Really. I'm just not that tough.

Instead of being able to handle the killer heat I was passed out in an air conditioned hotel room. THE ENTIRE TIME. Well, except for the time spent in the car, in a hospital, and half a freakin day in the music and sunshine. 105 degree sunshine that is.

And I only got 1/2 a sock and 6 inches of a sweater finished. Pretty damn poopy if you ask me.

See, the hubby is pretty good at predicting when I'll get a migraine, and he predicted right here. Me? I'm always in denial. Until it hits. Then I'm a sobbing, babbling, moaning pile on the floor. Covered in a towel to protect against the light. I remember trying to tell him to cut the top of my head off and trade it with another (just to give you an idea of where I was at). I think between that, me moaning unintelligible things to him, and a little convulsing on my part he decided he'd better get me on down to the ER.

I remember bits and pieces of that involving:

* Being convinced they were trying to kill me when they gave me the demerol for pain.

*Changing beds 3 times because there was a sudden bed-on-wheels shortage.

*Them trying to get me to pee sitting on a seat with a bucket under it. Nuh-uh. I don't care how sick I am.

*Waking up in a totally different room/bed than I remember starting in, and once again being able to feel something other than a giant throbbing mass on my neck.

During this all the hubby was a saint. He called around to find me a hotel room to pass out in, which was not an easy task. You see, Reggae on the River is in the middle of nowhere in Northern CA. And when you suddenly cram bunches of people in the middle of nowhere every nook & cranny is full. And beyond full.

He finally found me a spot in the prestigious Benbow Inn. Apparently the nurses at the hospital were trying to impress him by saying Clint Eastwood stayed there. If Clint Eastwood DID stay there I sure as hell wouldn't want to meet him looking like I did. I had on pajama pants, a crumpled camisole, sandles, and two day old pigtails. SO not a pretty sight.

I promptly passed out in the room while the hubby tried to go enjoy the nightly festivities. He said when the bus pulled up to drop them off there was one window where the blinds were wide open and all the lights were blaring. Mine.

He came into the room to find me totally passed out, facedown on the bed, my face planted in the middle of a pile of sock, yarn, & 4 very sharp dpn's. It's a wonder I didn't poke my eye out. The next night was more of the same...weird medicated sleeping.

But I'm back, not quite at full speed, and dare I say....burned out? I didn't even feel like knitting last night let alone moving my ass off the couch. But I had to go pick up my dear doggy. Remember my brother, the saint? He took such good care of my doggy, the mean thing didn't even act happy to see me. He took one look at me, and promptly passed out in the backseat of the car. DIDN'T EVEN COME IN FOR A DOGGY KISS. And the little bastard had no idea what I had to go through to go pick him up.

The next time I think I can somehow go 20 miles in rush hour in one hour, smack me. My excitement included seeing a few cars (including a cop car) nice and smashed up...even on fire! A person serious about picking their nose, and lots and lots of very bored, pissed of people. All going where I was going.

Moral? Never leave your desk. It's a conspiracy.