Too much social activity over the weekend left me in bed for the entire morning. Introversion or chronic illness doesn't begin to cover what socialization does to me these days.
If I described what I did this weekend to most people, they'd be like, "What are you talking about? That's a normal weekend for me."
Once upon a time, it would have been a normal weekend for me as well. On Friday, DH and I went for our walk (trying to get back in the rhythm after recovering from the cold we both contracted), bought groceries for our empty cupboards, and picked up some dinner.
Saturday was date night, the first one we've had since December. We went out for Mexican before attending the high school's production of "Mamma Mia!" (which was totally awesome).
Then on Sunday, one of DH's uncles on his dad's side organized a family reunion/birthday party for FIL who turns 87 today. FIL had seven siblings, so when the surviving sibs, all the kids, grandkids, etc. gather, it's huge event. It's not like DH's family are crazy party animals though. We had a low-key potluck and cake.
Not really a lot right? But I woke up this morning with such muscle pain that I rolled over and tried to sleep off the discomfort. Or I did until DH woke me a little after one p.m.
I hate having to blow a good chunk of my day. My fingers ache as I type this. And I need to wait a half-hour before I can take my next dose of naproxen.
Tonight, DH and his sibs, spouses, etc. are taking FIL out to dinner to his favorite restaurant for his birthday. Which means, I'll be pretty much physically useless tomorrow and possibly Wednesday.
This type of stuff makes me so thankful for my writing. It's something I can do while sitting on my recliner on the bad days. And I can still live through my characters.