Head Injuries Are Never Fun. EVER.
On Saturday, I hit my head. Very very hard. On a block of ice. YUM.
I was sledding in the snow park. First run of the day. Pushed to sledding against my will. "No mother, I would prefer to play in the snow and watch today, we can leave the sled behind" I said emphatically and was denied. And made to test a run to see if it would be kosher for the nephew. And thus. The sled flipped around and I slammed into a icy jump with the back of my very pretty and very unprotected skull. For hours after, my ears rang, I felt like vomiting and generally wanted to die.
On Tuesday, I spent all day in the hospital for a CT scan to make sure I wasn't dying. Because my very pretty skull still hurts. Jostling quickly makes me want to die. My neck also hates me and refused to cooperate with where I want to turn my head. Very loudly. So yes. Medical science says I am perfectly healthy. My brain on the other hand, does not agree. Even a bit. So. Head injuries. Don't do it. Even if CT scans are kind of awesome if the tech lets you see the pretty pretty pictures because the inside of my neck is kind of cool. I have a new appreciation for my vertebrae. How nicely they line up. And kind of look like funky teeth in the sea of my muscles and other viscera.
Needless to say, I still feel like a party of evil construction workers are jackhammering the back of my head every time I nod my head, occasionally feel like I'm going to throw up, sleep at really odd hours and am generally miserable.
But I had some really nice chocolate today, so...well, it all evens out a bit.
In other incredibly interesting news.... I hate searching for furniture. I love designing props. Hate finding furniture. Worst thing ever. It makes me kind of homicidal. And my knee aches from driving all over the bloody state looking for a sofa that doesn't seem to exist anymore. Balls to your sofa, Fearless Leader. I can't wait until I can spend fifteen hours cutting period money while geeking out to whatever series of television I am marathoning at the moment again. It will be lovely.
And the Fearless Leader seems to have adopted me, as he keeps calling me "Kiddo" and "Sweetheart". The feminist in me rebels against such nicknames, but the girl who really likes her job and kind of want to BE the Fearless Leader at some point in the future is rejoicing that I am apparently IN. Even if IN means I'm the girl who is patronized to and paraded around like a pet. Whatever. I'm 23 and working in theatre. Making a paycheck in what I love. So. All the complaints are pretty...petty or something. I don't know. Vocabulary.
Anydamnway.
I'm going to ice my head and wrap my wrist (which has also decided to ache-this is how incredibly lucky I am) and...watch something. Or read my newest Torchwood novels. And giggle like a pre-teen. Because really. If you ignore Children of Earth (which I DO-- even as the DVD set glares at me from the Torchwood section of my bookcase [in my defense, I bought it before I watched it or heard about it, merely saw it in Best Buy and "OH GOD I MISSED IT HOW COULD I DO SUCH A THING" then watched it and bemoaned my ignorance])... and that got long. I'll start again. If you ignore Children of Earth, Torchwood is like the best kind of candy. It's not even all that good, as far as candy goes. It's actually kind of bad, but it's sooo good and you want to eat it all the time. Like me and circus peanuts. I know they're kind of awful but I NEED THEM ALL THE TIME. Such is me and my relationship to Torchwood. SO YES. NOVELS. LIKE AWFUL CANDY THAT I CAN'T STOP EATING. And then giggling like a young girl and frightening my parents. Giggling does not befit a 23 year old. Or it shouldn't. Whatever.
~T
P.S. This entry is brought to you by Tylenol PM. aka DRUGS. LOTS OF DRUGS.
I was sledding in the snow park. First run of the day. Pushed to sledding against my will. "No mother, I would prefer to play in the snow and watch today, we can leave the sled behind" I said emphatically and was denied. And made to test a run to see if it would be kosher for the nephew. And thus. The sled flipped around and I slammed into a icy jump with the back of my very pretty and very unprotected skull. For hours after, my ears rang, I felt like vomiting and generally wanted to die.
On Tuesday, I spent all day in the hospital for a CT scan to make sure I wasn't dying. Because my very pretty skull still hurts. Jostling quickly makes me want to die. My neck also hates me and refused to cooperate with where I want to turn my head. Very loudly. So yes. Medical science says I am perfectly healthy. My brain on the other hand, does not agree. Even a bit. So. Head injuries. Don't do it. Even if CT scans are kind of awesome if the tech lets you see the pretty pretty pictures because the inside of my neck is kind of cool. I have a new appreciation for my vertebrae. How nicely they line up. And kind of look like funky teeth in the sea of my muscles and other viscera.
Needless to say, I still feel like a party of evil construction workers are jackhammering the back of my head every time I nod my head, occasionally feel like I'm going to throw up, sleep at really odd hours and am generally miserable.
But I had some really nice chocolate today, so...well, it all evens out a bit.
In other incredibly interesting news.... I hate searching for furniture. I love designing props. Hate finding furniture. Worst thing ever. It makes me kind of homicidal. And my knee aches from driving all over the bloody state looking for a sofa that doesn't seem to exist anymore. Balls to your sofa, Fearless Leader. I can't wait until I can spend fifteen hours cutting period money while geeking out to whatever series of television I am marathoning at the moment again. It will be lovely.
And the Fearless Leader seems to have adopted me, as he keeps calling me "Kiddo" and "Sweetheart". The feminist in me rebels against such nicknames, but the girl who really likes her job and kind of want to BE the Fearless Leader at some point in the future is rejoicing that I am apparently IN. Even if IN means I'm the girl who is patronized to and paraded around like a pet. Whatever. I'm 23 and working in theatre. Making a paycheck in what I love. So. All the complaints are pretty...petty or something. I don't know. Vocabulary.
Anydamnway.
I'm going to ice my head and wrap my wrist (which has also decided to ache-this is how incredibly lucky I am) and...watch something. Or read my newest Torchwood novels. And giggle like a pre-teen. Because really. If you ignore Children of Earth (which I DO-- even as the DVD set glares at me from the Torchwood section of my bookcase [in my defense, I bought it before I watched it or heard about it, merely saw it in Best Buy and "OH GOD I MISSED IT HOW COULD I DO SUCH A THING" then watched it and bemoaned my ignorance])... and that got long. I'll start again. If you ignore Children of Earth, Torchwood is like the best kind of candy. It's not even all that good, as far as candy goes. It's actually kind of bad, but it's sooo good and you want to eat it all the time. Like me and circus peanuts. I know they're kind of awful but I NEED THEM ALL THE TIME. Such is me and my relationship to Torchwood. SO YES. NOVELS. LIKE AWFUL CANDY THAT I CAN'T STOP EATING. And then giggling like a young girl and frightening my parents. Giggling does not befit a 23 year old. Or it shouldn't. Whatever.
~T
P.S. This entry is brought to you by Tylenol PM. aka DRUGS. LOTS OF DRUGS.