Every so often, you lose a day. I'm not talking about the day after the night before, when all you want is a bacon sandwich with a Berocca chaser. (Otherwise known as 1 January.)
I'm talking about losing a day because you have to give yourself over to circumstance, like a stinking hot February day when it just too hot to do anything other than sit in the coolest room of the house, sucking on ice chips, sweating. Give me a rain soaked day any time, as at least I have bags of energy to get things done inside, like cook up vats of soup or fold giant piles of washing (or snuggle up under the doona with the kids and watch She's The Man).
I had a lost day today, thanks to a medical 'procedure'. That term can only really sound sinister, so I'll just come out and tell you that I had a gastroscopy. It wasn't at all painful or uncomfortable, and all I'm left with is an incredible sense of drowsiness and a slightly sore throat. I'm also under strict instructions not to operate any machinery or sign any important documents. I think it's still OK to blog though.
Other than spending an hour and a half in the waiting room, my day has been spent in a strange half awake state. I can't even remember going under the sedation at the day hospital, nor falling asleep back in my own bed once The Hubster had taken me home. I do remember waking up about an hour ago find my Mum had cooked the kids tea before going home, and that I had managed to have a three hour sleep on a Tuesday afternoon. Ah, bliss.