I feel pretty crummy, but I don’t know what’s wrong. I just don’t feel quite right. I had to cancel today’s appointment with my personal trainer and tomorrow’s shopping outing. I figure, if I feel this horrible with nothing tangible attached (other than a vague “creaky” feeling, which would feel better if I just exercised a little), I won’t get better overnight.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been sleeping so poorly: I can’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep at a reasonable hour (after plenty of winding down and rituals and lavender-and-chamomile scentedness), I can only sleep when I’m absolutely exhausted and, then, I keep waking up at least every hour.  Even naps have been sucking big sweaty donkey balls. My doctor suggested having a set nightly bedtime and moving to the guest room as soon as I start having trouble. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that’s where the litterbox is and it would be easier to try to convince my husband to sleep there (which we’d both hate – I cherish the 5.3 minutes of quiet talking before he is suddenly unconscious, and he cherishes the soft mattress, many pillows, and the freedom of having a boobie within arm’s reach all night).

I’m back to the level of non-conscious bodily discomfort I was at months ago, where I start feeling nauseous until I realize I have to use the bathroom and I’m having trouble maintaining my body temperature (I feel hot-cold-hot-cold-hot…).

Maybe I’m sick. Maybe it’s a UTI. Maybe I need more/better sleep. Maybe I just need some not-overly-strenuous exercise.

But right now, I’m finally feeling nauseous enough to want to use the bathroom and then make my way to bed. And poor Stewie’s finally so comfortable in my lap. Oh, well – life’s hard for a pimp-cat.