MOVarazzi

Monday, September 12, 2011

508. Can You Call It Insomnia?

I don’t get insomnia. When I go to sleep, I sleep hard. We’re talking coma sleep, the kind that barking dogs, car alarms, and jets taking off in my front yard cannot interrupt. So it should come as somewhat of a surprise when I woke up this morning at 1:30 AM.

Paint the scene. Yesterday, I worked at the high-end kitchen store. I had a piercing headache all day, the kind of headache that you try to disguise at work, that you walk around rubbing your temples as inconspicuously as possibly while squeaking out phrases like, “Did you need help with blenders?” all the while wishing you could lay down on the floor in the back stockroom or possibly even right here on the sales floor and just die.

I had no Tylenol with me. NO TYLENOL.

Caffeine usually helps my headaches, so I made myself a few shots of espresso on one of our demo machines to try to take the edge off.

By the time my shift was over, I was entering a dangerous place: Migraine Land.

I drove to the drugstore and bought Tylenol. It took every molecule of self-control I possess to not rip the packaging off and inhale three pills before even paying.

I got in the car, took the Tylenol, and prayed to the gods of relief (these are the same gods that sometimes send our tax refund in March instead of June) to take over.

I drove home, crawled in the door, and uttered a few words to The Husband, words like Please shoot me, Pain level 9, and Leave me alone, then I collapsed on the bed. This was at 7 PM.

Six and a half hours later, guess who woke up HEADACHE-FREE, rested, relaxed, and ready to tackle the day awaiting her? I usually go to bed around 11 PM and wake up at 6 AM, without an alarm being set. My body is happy with six and a half to seven hours of sleep, and when that is attained, says, “MOV, time to get up!”  Oh, yay! 

On the upside, I got caught up on a lot of email. So if you received an email from me at, say, 1:30 this morning, please just ignore the time-stamp.

MOV

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