My Head

Last Saturday, Steve went on the first sail of the season, and then stayed at the boat overnight with some friends of his. I stayed at home with the boys. I was, truth be told, a little giddy at the thought of having the evening to myself, not to mention the Whole Entire Bed to stretch out in.

Only instead of quilting, or writing, or even watching girly movies or artsy films, I decided to clean the basement. It was long overdue. Even though Steve had tidied up a bit, it hadn’t been vacuumed for months, and the dog hair, the dust, and the spider webs in the corners were out of control.

So I cleaned. And I cleaned. I was doing a good job, I thought. But then I realized my head was hurting.

And not just a little bit, but a whole lot. Very much, in fact. So much, that I was eventually forced to quit. I couldn’t even finish what I was doing. I had to go upstairs and leave the mop bucket and a trash bag down there.

I went upstairs and climbed into bed, only by then it was too late. I was sick to my stomach on top of everything else, so I couldn’t take anything for it. I couldn’t sleep. I kept going over what I had eaten, hoping it was food poisoning and not a dreaded stomach flu that would make it’s way through the whole family, one by one.

The next morning my stomach was better, but my head still hurt. Not when I was reclined with my eyes closed, but any time I tried to so anything. Such as move.

It gradually improved, until Monday afternoon, when it seemed to just get better. No one else got really sick. I can’t figure out what this was – seasonal allergies? Migraines? Stress related to birthday parties?