How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

Yesterday started out as a very relaxing, productive day. I slept in until 9:30am, and awoke to coffee and cinnamon rolls. The girls and Tyler had left for church (I kid you not. They were stalking a boy). Then Ron came over and he and Todd went out to the cottage (I’ve decided I don’t like the term “shack”) to work on some stuff.

So I found myself alone. In my own house. Gasp.

I turned on the radio and started going through my box of books. I sifted through some other boxes, and then started some laundry. Ron left, so Todd came in and started helping with the sorting. Then I decided I needed to scoop the litter box since Elvis has no clue how to cover his poop, even though he scratches at the walls of the litter box for 10 minutes.

And it was here that my day so abruptly turned sour.

I was bent over, pouring more litter into the litter box, and when I stood up, my head went directly into the underside of the white cabinet hanging on the wall.

And, oh my gawd, I swear I saw stars.

I yelled and Todd came running and he checked for blood, but I hadn’t caught the corner – just the flat bottom. So, no blood. But one helluva sore spot.

The rest of day, I was a little off. A bit dizzy, a bit of a headache, a bit fuzzy. And while we were sitting eating dinner, the neck and back ache started. I think I just jammed or jarred my entire back. I laid on ice the rest of the night and took some Advil before bed.

Today isn’t too bad. My back is still sore between my shoulder blades, but at least my head doesn’t hurt and I’m not really dizzy.

I can only imagine how productive I could have been had it not been for the bonk.

Dammit.