As we all know, sleeping is not a waste of a perfectly good day.
Saturday night the husband and I went to the swell annual company Christmas party, where I wore this rockin' dress; of course I looked just as fabulous as this model does -- and my shoes were better than these, which is important. We had a great time, but it might be true that I had just a teensy bit too much of the migraine-triggering red wine. We stayed at the party hotel Saturday night, and met up with friends for brunch yesterday morning. The tragic news? I was where my excellent migraine-specific drugs were not.
tangent: These triptan drugs are amazing, y'all. When they work, it's like being ever-so-gently touched by the finger of God. Of course, they don't work for every person, and they don't work for every headache. And if you don't take them quickly enough, you are ever-so-gently screwed.
Well, when we got home, I took my drugs (too late) and then took to my bed. This is where the Percocet would have been a delicious option. But I do adore the husband and the urchins, because every so often I would swim to consciousness from my haze of pain, to find a fresh glass of ice water, crackers, or a nice cold Coca-Cola sitting on the bedside table.
Ooh, my dears! I know they took the cocaine out of the Coca-Cola, but what if they put the Percocet in the Coca-Cola?! Talk about the pause that refreshes!
Today behind the door of the Advent calendar, we find The Polar Express. We love all of Chris Van Allsburg's books: Jumanji, Zathura, The Z Was Zapped, The Garden of Abdul Gasazi, and the phenomenal Bad Day at Riverbend. The stories are all filled with just the right amount of eerie and weird, and the illustrations cannot be beat.
The Polar Express includes the eerie along with a helping of Christmas sweet; it's a classic.