At least, that’s who I’m blaming. I’ve been going along fine, taking care of myself, planning a retreat, celebrating St. Patrick’s day in a sensible manner. . .
Only I somehow missed the part about if you don’t get seriously partied out on St. Paddy’s Day, you have to face the Revenge of the Leprechauns: the mother of all migraines. I’ll take a sleep-deprived hangover any day.
I’ve had killer migraines before. The kind that send me home from work and into bed for a couple of hours, followed by several hours on the couch. This migraine started in my dreams (I kid you not, I kept slipping in and out of sleep, unsure whether my head really hurt or was just a dream) and really got going once I woke up.
I’m not sure how I managed to shower or take my husband to work, but other than that I slept ALL DAY. Really. With the exception of a couple of bathroom breaks. And then I slept all night.
I thought I was doing a good job of taking care of myself. and while I don’t want to blame myself for getting a migraine, it’s pretty obvious to me that my Higher Self was beating me over the head with the need to get some extreme rest.
Not later. Not tomorrow, not next week, not next month. NOW.
Yesterday, I had no choice but to surrender. Today, while I feel better, the migraine is still lurking around the edges, reminding me not to push it.
So I will not edit this post. I will not worry about SEOing it. I will not even spellcheck it.
Happy, little green men?