It’s half twelve.
I need to go to bed.
Instead I am catching up on paperwork, nursing a hot water bottle on my neck where it has gone click for the second time in a week, and eating pain killers for the headache that came to stay after my migraine left, and which has not really gone away yet.
Oh, and we will not mention the fact that I am now way past tired into wired or that I am sure the reason I am eating everything in sight, at the oddest of times and in the strangest of combinations, is entirely down to my iron/B12 levels and not a pregnancy.
It cannot be a pregnancy. Jason and I never stay in the same room together for long enough at the moment, without one or both of us being asleep, for that to happen. We are in hibernation mode.
Jason helpfully threw in the idea that I might have a phantom pregnancy.
I might whelp a litter of ten phantom babies.
I hope they’re pug dogs.
I really want a pug dog, so I can dress it in stupid hats and teach Derek to ride it up and down the hall wielding a tiny whip.
Fingers crossed for that, eh?
They’ll be huge this season.
Anyway, enough exhausted gibbering.
Thank you all for your concern and ideas re my health. I am back at the Dr’s this week. I will broach the subject.
Considering how much I hate the Dr’s I seem to be spending large amounts of my life there at the moment.
I might have to have a bench with my name on, if this continues.