Arg

Everybody send me some virtual Tylenol, because I am in pain today.  Every muscle in my lower body is sore and aching; I’m even experiencing leg cramps for the first time ever.  Why?  God only knows.  Too much sitting, perhaps.  My uterus is nipping at me hourly, reminding me “Hey!  I’m down here!  I’m expanding!  Stretching and such!  Don’t forget, here I am!”  My throat is sore.  I was up much of the night with that lovely recurring cough that I tend to get and tend to take liberal nightly doses of codeine to subdue.  Umm, tadpole, how do you feel about codeine?  Think your four inch self could handle it?  Sigh.  I’m going to swallow my fear and bust out the neti pot tonight, in the hopes that it will help.  Thus far I’ve been too sleepy to attack the instruction manual, but I’m getting desperate.

In short, I am in a foul mood.  Foul foul foul.  And people keep bugging me today.  Needy needy people with their needy needy needs.  I need my this (benefit form, vacation request form, all manner of forms THAT ARE AVAILABLE ON THE INTRANET, PEOPLE, CAN YOU NOT PRESS PRINT ON YOUR OWN COMPUTER??).  I need help with that (cover my shift, tell me my 401K info, do me a graph, file this report).  I need to complain about this and why aren’t you doing something? (recycling, my incorrect paycheck, the ratty state of our flags outside, and, I’m not joking, PMS pain).  I want to shut my door, but frequently they just pound on it til I open it and that prolongs the unwanted interaction.  Best just to get it over with and scowl and grimace so they leave quickly.  But not too much scowling, lest they ask how I am or what’s wrong and we end up in a four hour conversation about pregnancy, and health, and what their Great Aunt Annie used to do for a cough, which typically involves brandy and PEOPLE I CAN’T HAVE BRANDY, WHY MUST YOU TEASE ME.

Last night we saw Caetano Veloso at UNC’s Memorial Hall, and that was a fun different thing to do on a Wednesday night.  He’s an excellent Brazilian musician – sort of pop, folk, rock, and World Music all rolled up into a sexy ball of silver fox.  He sang mostly in Portuguese, so while I listened and stretched my crampy legs, my mind wandered to thoughts of the baby, and of a friend going through a bad time, and of the baby, and of another friend on her way to Paris, and of another friend whose dad just suffered a heart attack (but he’s doing well), and of the baby.  And then we went for one drink with some friends, and I sucked down two pints of water, and resigned myself to hourly trips to the loo throughout the night, and drank another.  Pregnancy = dear god, the thirst that will not be tamed.

Only two more hours til the end of this boring work day in a string of indistinguishably boring work days, and I get to go home and cough.