(no subject)
As much as I am vexed by physics, there is a simple beauty in Newton's First Law of Motion*. With no other stimulus, objects in motion remain in motion. Left to their own devices, objects at rest remain at rest. This perfectly sums up my states of consciousness.
No matter how tired I am, I never want to go to sleep. No matter how much promise the day ahead of me holds, I never want to get out of bed.
Which was weird yesterday morning, when I woke up two hours before my alarm was to go off, wide awake. I huddled in the covers, trying to refocus my brain on the task at hand (as opposed to outdancing Vikings, as I had been doing on the dreamscape not five minutes previous).
It was kind of hard, as my muscles were still sore from battle. But I knew that if I just...waittaminute...I was still sore from my from out-goove shaking Tykir? Doubtful. It was far more likely that I was sore from...
Great Leaping Sam Elliott! It was the day of PAAAAAAAAIN! And three freaking days early, too!
I cursed, as I had yet to buy any ibuprofen for this occasion (although I had PLENTY of tylenol, of course :( Knowing that the max effect would be reached if I could take them before the worst of the pain set in, I flew out of bed.
Only to come face to face with a swirling vortex of terror. Also known as bed-head.
I was in pain, and in a hurry, but even I had to take a moment and marvel at the wildness and rage of my hair. It seemed to swirl with a low, dark chuckle, and I was forced to look away before I was consumed by its fury.
Somewhat shaken by the encounter, I squeezed my eyes shut, and hesitantly reached up with a hairtie. I clenched my jaw shut in determination as something snapped at my fingers, but with a deft movement the hair was semi-restrained in a ponytail. Sure, half of it was still sticking up, but the effort was there, and that was what mattered.
Pulling on my jacket and shoes as I stumbled towards the door, I threw open to door to...
...Come face to face with a Jehovah's Witness woman and her five year old son.
They stared at me. With my bleary eyes, pinched expression, demonic hair, and morning breath that made the flowers on her jacket wilt. I stared at them, with their angelic curls, "hygiene", and polite "Don't Worry, We Save The Stinky As Well." gazes.
There was a pause as we both stopped ourselves from sighing.
"Is this Kaora?" The five year old asked. Adorably, in the way that religious children have.
"NO!" The mother said firmly, and then checked herself. She politely asked "Is your roommate in?"
Whew, that's right, these were the people that were trying to convert Kaora. There ARE advantages to looking like a lost cause afterall. I mentioned that she was out, and they very politely went on their way. (The five year old waved. Even the 'Do melted a little, going from malevolent to merely sinister;)
But even people not interested in saving my soul were not enough to stop me in my quest. I beat feet down to the Shoppers Drug Mart, growing more jittery and achey with every step. I didn't barely took the time to pivot when I finally found some extra-extra-extra strength Motrin. Slamming it on the counter, looking all the world like a sweaty, strung out drug addict (WITH cramps), I passed her my optimum card and growled "This. Please."
She took one look at me, one look at the prescription, and with one hand on a strategically placed blessed cross, she exchanged my money for the bottle and the receipt.
I didn't even wait until I was outside the store to rip off the childproof cap, break and seal, and to dry swallow a pill. People skittered nervously around, trying hard not to look directly at me. Luckily, I didn't care. There was a warm bed and a hot water bottle waiting for me at home, and God willing, some chocolate as well.
All stories should end so happily.
*Not to be confused with Carole King's First Law of the Loco-Motion**
**To do it.
Seeya, Space Cowboys!