Dear Diary . . . day by day

Saturday, August 5th - Doubled over Death Cramps
I've almost forgotten the pleasure of writing a journal entry while David strums away on his guitar in the next room. It's something that rocked about hanging around Jeff, too - live music. Musicians rule.
Anyway, you didn't hear from me yesterday because I was recovering from The Night of the Living, Searing, Cramps. Seriously, Thursday night/Friday morning I spent a half an hour doubled over in so much pain I couldn't crawl the five feet to the painkillers. I broke into a dripping sweat that had my hair soaked by the end. I was trying not to throw up, it hurt so bad, and I swore I'd never give birth without pain killers. Ooh, it was terrible. Even once the horribleness subsided, I still had griping pains the rest of the night and into the morning. I slowly managed to fix myself a hot pad (microwavable) and some lemon balm/raspberry tea - I kept having to crouch into child's pose to keep the cramps from downing me completely. It was one of those times when you long, simply long for a significant other to soothe and pamper you.
Last night I hung out with David, and he was sweet enough to let me stay over because I was still cramping (I also wanted someone around in case I got the death cramps again). Anyhow, he's playing guitar in the next room now, and I'm looking at my weekend and trying to figure out what needs to be done and what actually will. I should write something.
Maybe more later. My mood is almost entirely neutral, which is weird :-)
Exercise log:
Back and Biceps and Abs Thursday night. And a successful half an hour on the treadmill, reading Sheckley.
Writing log:
Wasn't feeling well, but I managed to rewrite bits of "Forest" so they now jive with my current vision for that story. I need to do some research or something, because I'm losing interest in writing it - sigh. It's a great concept, too.
I'm currently reading:
Two by the Master: The People Trap (short stories) PLUS Mindswap by Robert Sheckley
Slowly, oh so slowly:
Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand by Samuel R. Delany

Previous | Next
List of Entries for this Month | Journal Index | Current Entry
Home