Kristian and I have been doing some work on the house. Which is definitely a good thing. I aspire to someday use more than 54% of our rooms. I also aspire to not trip over tools left on the kitchen floor. But I am inclined to trip over pretty much anything, including invisible dust bunnies, so that’s pretty much a wash.
What is not such a good thing is the insane amount of dust that we’ve been kicking up. Even though Kristian vacuums like his life depended on it, he just can’t keep up with the sheer amount of particles floating around the place like so much, well, dust in the wind.
(And now you all have that song stuck in your heads. You can thank me for it later.)
Me? I’m pretty much useless in the vacuuming department. I work a mean swiffer, but that’s neither here nor there.
The point is, once again, it feels like our house is attempting to kill me… one sneeze at a time. It started with a headache around this time last night. Advil and Zyrtec are no match for this headache. I went to bed with my head throbbing, woke up with my head throbbing and it has continued to throb all day. My head hurts. The bridge of my nose hurts. My eyebrows hurt. Did you know that your eyebrows can hurt? I had no idea until today. We’re working on hour 25 of this headache (I don’t remember my dreams from last night, but I’m sure that they were all about throbbing eyebrows and whatnot). I’m a little terrified that this headache and I are going to be frenemies for life.
Yes, I just used the word frenemies. In only a semi-ironic fashion. This is how bad my head hurts. Somebody send me some prescription strength pain killers before I start toting around a little gog and wearing leggings as pants.
Surprisingly enough, I’m not all that cranky. I suspect that this headache has beat me into submission. Either that or I’m so cranky that I’ve come all the way back around to nice. Just like extreme communism and fascism are often virtually indistinguishable. At least from a totalitarian perspective.
It’s almost enough to make a girl use one of her eleventy billion sick days. Except, you know, prolonged exposure to my house just makes me feel worse.
Perhaps I should take a sick day tomorrow and then spend it sleeping under my desk at work.
