I awoke this morning feeling extremely fatigued, which is unusual for me being the person often quoted as believing sleep is "overrated and a waste of time". However, after sleeping 8 hours (2 more than my norm) I fell asleep everytime Joy tried waking me before she left for work. Even after being up for 2 hours, I still couldn't shake the exhaustion. I've been feeling like this for about a week now...I normally can't sleep for long, but now I'm finding every excuse to go back to sleep. I decided that I was NOT doing that today.
However, hours later as I write this I'm realizing that the world was trying to save me from a horrible fate.
First of all, the fatigue alone all but killed my run for the day, which was scheduled for 4 miles. Being tired, I thought my iPod could save me during said run. iPod was dead. So I charged it for awhile, which forced me to plan on a 3 miler instead. All geared and stretched up, I ran for a half mile before developing a chest pain and shortness of breath. This wasn't happening today. I went home and did 30 more minutes on the treadmill, salvaging what I could of my dignity. It was now 2:30.
Leaving the shower at 2:45 left me 15 minutes to get dressed, eat something, and find a dinner for tonight. Left over stir fry? And some stale rice? Sweet! Dinner is set. Now to eat something. I'm (to quote Sarah) "hungry like a hostage".
I have these veggie-burger-like patties in the freezer, which are sort of like Gardenburgers, but they have whole pieces of broccoli and edamame in them...and they are much more moist. Since it's frozen, you have to microwave it for about 2 minutes. To speed things up, I used the microwave cover-thingy. As I take it out, I carefully grasp the sides of the plate with my fingertips, trying desperately not to burn myself during the 10-foot trip to the counter.
To no avail.
My finger touched a hotspot, which made me slip, and the plate juggles in my hands a bit before crashing to the floor. Since I was actually trying to catch the plate in a fumbled clapping motion, the patty slides off the plate, slaps right into the palm of my left hand and firmly sticks there. It wasn't until I started scraping it off my hand in the sink that I realized how much it hurt.
The next 20 minutes involved me yelling, calling Joy, screaming in agony, yelling for Megan to help me find the burn gel, ransacking the house for ace wraps and burn gel, screaming "Where the hell is that %#*@ burn gel?!", wondering if Vasoline would work instead, or maybe cocoa butter, "Where's that damn gel?!", and finally cracking open the survival kit I won in a drawing at the post office. Ahh...burn gel.
10 minutes and some whining later, I now look like The Mummy.
I then go work, starving, telling 100 people the same story about my hand, then begging at 5:30 to go get a bagel. Which I try to take the first bite of, and it pops out of my fingers, almost (but not quite) hitting the floor.
I then go back to my desk, attempt to clean up some old pencil smudges on my desk with that Purell stuff. It squirts out in all directions, splattering onto my keyboard, shoes and my pants...perfectly missing the desk.
Despite all of this, we must look to the bright side of this afternoon.
...I never went back to sleep.