Last night, I was paid a visit from my dear old friend, Tremendous Pain. TP -- stoked to see me -- insisted on re-hashing everything we had ever done together (ALL the old times).
As luck would have it, my oxy had not expired. Neither had the Promethazine I was out like a light by 8pm. Until 3am, when the roaring from my tummeh all but woke H.K. from his own deep slumber. The next two hours were spent crumpled intermittently on the floor of the bathroom. TP had revitalized his old buddy Throughput, and together they had a splendid time bringing me to my knees. Fortunately, as soon as the battle quelled I had an hour left to rehabilitate in bed.
Somewhat less fortunately, I had a 3 hr class to teach this morning. Yeah. TP was ready to call it a night, but Throughput was still eager to party. And Promethazine? That bitch just does not metabolize. So this morning, I lectured and taught a 3 hr lab to a group of unsuspecting undergrads as a Throughput Zombie.
What is the point to all this complaining, you ask? To prove that I am a bad ass mother, and that TP, Throughput and Promethazine be damned, my students will learn neuropharmacology today. In all honesty, I have no idea how I made it through without a vasovagal event. The only thing I want in the entire world right now is to sleep it off. But Raga has a presentation tomorrow morning...