metrocake

Me and muscle relaxants, we don’t mix. They’re not the fun part of “relaxant” — the one where you stare at the walls and think about nothing, or say, “Ooooh, pretty shiny colors!”, or even think “Garfield” is funny. No, no. Muscle relaxants are TKO. They come and grab you and say, “Lights out, sister, you’re down.”

And yet, sometimes I’ll take them. I’m supposed to take them for tension headaches, to try and get my neck and back muscles to release and thus make the headaches go away. This week has been particularly horrible — major upheaval at work, 14 weeks before our wedding (ZOMG), other things going on — and I’ve been a mess. I finally looked at R yesterday and said, “It’s a huge mountain and I’ve no idea how to scale it or where to start.” His response, “Pick one thing and do that,” was dead on and helped, but the tension was still there. Deciding to PUG a Heroic instance wasn’t precisely the form of relaxation I needed, either…although it did get me a shiny new toy.

Finally, about midnight, I decided to override my brain and take the meds. R was going to a tae kwon do tournament today, so I knew it would be quiet (we live in a studio) and I could just sleep in. I only woke up once, when R was leaving, at about 7:30. I kissed him and went back to sleep…

…and woke up some time later, totally groggy, and trying to read the numbers on the alarm clock. “Um…..why are there only three blurry digits on the clock instead of four?” I groped for my glasses, figuring, “Fine, so I slept until 1:00. That’s okay, I guess…” And then the clock snapped into focus: 2:55 pm.

“No. FRICKIN’. WAY.” [insert other startled profanities here!]

The other problem with muscle relaxants is waking up from them. They tend to make me one step removed from the rest of the world for about 24 hours. Nothing seems quite…certain, and again, not in the fun kind of way. No, no, it’s more in the “Is this really happening or not?” fashion. It sucks.

Brushed my teeth, shoved my contacts in my eyes, decided to seek sustenance in the form of a bagel (with scallion cream cheese) and coffee. The 23-degree temperature helped to wake me up some, but not nearly enough. Manhattan turned into “Twin Peaks,” featuring some woman wearing waaaaayyy too many sequins in Starbucks (ow, too shiny!), a couple talking in French on the way home and suddenly inserting “single digits” into their conversation (huh?), and the Elevator Lady (up is the new down!).

I am home, and coffeed, and R is on his way back. It’s only 4:30. I’m ready to start my day!