I was very confused this morning as I sat and ate my cereal. I thought that today was Monday. It had to be Monday, Jason was home yesterday, which obviously meant that yesterday was Sunday. Sunday, Monday...shot day. I flipped to the television listings, only to be reminded that today is in fact, Tuesday.
I had missed the Dancing With the Stars season premiere last night. Not only that, but I must have also missed my Rebif injection, because today certainly wasn't shaping up to feel like a P.I.D. day.
Where was the slight ache in my limbs?
Why was I out of bed?
Why hadn't I woke up in the night with sore legs?
Then I remembered that I did my injection: on a stool in the kitchen. By myself. Icepack within reach. Just me and the teensy weensy needle filled with laboratory mystery serum. Before bed, I popped in 2 ibuprofen.
And now it's 23 hours later, and I'm no worse for wear.
Somebody please pinch me.