Some Days, You Shouldn't Get Out of Bed

Some days, you really shouldn't get out of bed. Yesterday, I dragged myself in to work with nothing more than the usual amount of trouble. I started to feed the fish to discover that my very first fish, the betta Phailin, was dead on the bottom of the aquarium. Great start.

I muckled about, not very ambitiously. Around 11:00 a.m., I was told that a good friend was on her way to the ER. I decided that it was a good time to leave for lunch. I took my usual hour's lunch, came back to my desk, and discovered that my "trick" brain had gone out. You know how a trick ankle will suddenly refuse to bear weight? It doesn't give warning, it doesn't hurt, you just suddenly find yourself sprawled on the ground to the great amusement of your friends? Now and again, my brain does much the same. I sat at my desk for a half an hour, trying to concentrate enough to update a phone list. Eventually, I gave up, and called a cab. There's a bus strike, here, so that was the only way to get home.

I got home, looked into the hospital tank, and found that the pl*co had died. If possible, I felt even flatter. I took off my clothes, burrowed under the bedclothes, and was asleep in a couple of minutes. I woke up once to answer the phone. My friend was fine, and being bundled off home with many new drugs and admonitions to call if necessary. I didn't wake up again until six o'clock, or so. David and I chased down some dinner, came home, and I watched some trashy television. I sent utterly incoherent email to a friend, due to having doubled my dose of sleeping pill in hopes of getting to sleep before 4 a.m.

All in all, I think it would have been a more productive day if I hadn't gotten out of bed in the first place.