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Not The Day I'd Planned
20/1/11 16:09I finished the bulk of the BVC author payout accounting for this quarter this morning, and started in on cleaning up the Nebula Nominations page (weeding out duplications, checking to see whether something in two categories was fish or fowl or something else). And then my alarm went off to remind me that I was supposed to be at the Blood Center to do an apheresis draw. So I grab some clothes and something to eat and go dashing off to the Blood Center, getting there only 5 minutes late. Go through the intake (and for a wonder, my iron levels were good). But it turns out I can no longer donate platelets or plasma: because I've been pregnant I have an antibody that some people react to. Could I just give them a pint of high-test?
So they draw a pint of blood and everything is fine (Chuck the Nurse, a tall middle-aged former Marine with a gray-blond ponytail and an excellent line of banter, kept me entertained). I have my juice and doughnut, and start off home. Stop at the coffee shop to have the coffee I hadn't had earlier (see: accounting and Nebula noms, above). And as I'm sitting there I start to feel the warning ick of a faint coming on. So I put my head down on the table like a responsible swooner. Only that wasn't quite enough. I wake up from a really interesting dream to discover that I'm lying on the floor under my table. Sheena, the coffee shop owner, was horrified and kept plying me with pillows and draping coats and sweaters over me, telling me to lie still until I felt better. I kept apologizing (the two of us were falling over ourselves with fluttering--no wait, I'd already fallen over) and eventually I went home. Head hurt. Avocado, who has one of those icks involving a low fever, soupy cough, and zero energy, called plaintively from the front room to find out if I was okay.
So I iced my head and let the dog do an hour with the squeaky toy, finished with the Nebs page, and read a magazine. No Real Work will be done today. There may even be pizza for dinner. Some days you just have to go with the flow. Or the swoon.
So they draw a pint of blood and everything is fine (Chuck the Nurse, a tall middle-aged former Marine with a gray-blond ponytail and an excellent line of banter, kept me entertained). I have my juice and doughnut, and start off home. Stop at the coffee shop to have the coffee I hadn't had earlier (see: accounting and Nebula noms, above). And as I'm sitting there I start to feel the warning ick of a faint coming on. So I put my head down on the table like a responsible swooner. Only that wasn't quite enough. I wake up from a really interesting dream to discover that I'm lying on the floor under my table. Sheena, the coffee shop owner, was horrified and kept plying me with pillows and draping coats and sweaters over me, telling me to lie still until I felt better. I kept apologizing (the two of us were falling over ourselves with fluttering--no wait, I'd already fallen over) and eventually I went home. Head hurt. Avocado, who has one of those icks involving a low fever, soupy cough, and zero energy, called plaintively from the front room to find out if I was okay.
So I iced my head and let the dog do an hour with the squeaky toy, finished with the Nebs page, and read a magazine. No Real Work will be done today. There may even be pizza for dinner. Some days you just have to go with the flow. Or the swoon.