It would seem as though they slipped me a mickey of some sort last night.
I remember being perfectly coherent driving home, then staying up until around 2 a.m. because of the jitters that the albuterol cause. I went to bed and to sleep just fine and woke up in plenty of time for work.
But it was Zombie Me who went.
I could barely keep my eyes open all day long. Dunno if it was the steroids, the breathing treatments, the antibiotics, or...hmmmm....could it have been the Atavan??? In any case, I got home from work today and fell into a stupor. Hubster made me go upstairs to bed for a "nap," one that lasted almost five hours. So here I am again, still not out of the stupor, but awake enough to pretend.
It's supposed to be ninety-nine degrees tomorrow. Ninety-nine I-don't-even-want-to-leave-the-house-even-in-the-morning degrees. It has gone beyond sweat. It has gone beyond heat exhaustion. It is global warming at its finest.
I'm thinking of installing a couch in my office. I already have a closet for clothing, and the bathroom is just down the hall. Of course, I'd have to get up a lot earlier to get ready for work, but the commute would be a breeze. There's a kitchen downstairs in the break room, along with a washer/dryer combination for tablecloths and kitchen towels that I could borrow if need be. There are vending machines for snacks. At night, all I'd have to do is lock myself up in my little office and snooze away, heedless of the shootings and robberies and murders and fires and drug dealers outside. I'd be safe and cool in my own little cocoon. The kids and Hubster could even come and visit every now and then.
Imagine the work I could get done. Imagine the peace and quiet. Imagine not having to deal with the heat or the commute or the humidity.
It's a thought.
In the meantime, I think I'll just head upstairs again and dream some more as I sleep some more.
Because the bed, she is calling my name yet again.