derrr.

On the way to the second rehearsal tonight, I was basically out-of-cope to the point of tears; it didn't help that I was running late, and while that isn't the end of the world, I dislike being late, especially as I can't exactly sneak in. (If nothing else, the actuator -- being the clicky noise every time the joystick goes in or out of at-rest -- is, well, clicky.)

Roommate of More Brains pointed out that not only am I running a stressful schedule right now, I am doing so /coming off of being sick/.

... somehow, it had not occurred to me that a UTI counted as being sick¹. Nor that, in addition to the infection and all its lovely effects, I had a run of cipro fucking with my system.

*headdesks slightly*

It doesn't give me any more spoons², but it does explain why I am ready to cry at the drop of a hat. Yikes. So I have bailed on one of the things that was scheduled for tomorrow, and informed the other group that I am out of cope so don't expect anything from me, which makes tomorrow less of a stress day and more of a crash day, so I have a hope of getting through the weekend.

(rehearsal all day saturday, almost literally. I will spend saturday night in a haze of fire-bad-tree-pretty. sunday has church, and the usual afternoon group, and the concert, and I am sure the entire following week will be crash time. possibly with a trip to yarn store and/or tea shop.)

time now for milk and cookies and then bed.


[1: this is a repeating habit with me. the first one I ever had, it didn't occur to me to seek medical attention until I had a 105° fever and I think it has mutated into a kidney infection by then.]

[2: if you do not know the spoon metaphor, go here and read. it is very useful.]