I did the first half of a 2-night first aid course last night, and it was better than I expected.
I was really dreading it, with the migraine and all, but I was lucky enough that the headache had eased off somewhat, so it wasn't bad at all. It was still bad enough that I had to wear my sunnies indoors because of the florescent lighting, but I figured that it just made me look cool and mysterious to a bunch of total strangers.
Which is my aim in life...
Which also says a lot about my lack of goals, doesn't it?
And having a good teacher and a bunch of normal people for classmates, helped immensely. Not that the other day carers that I usually take the classes with aren't "normal", but this just seemed to be more focused, and there was less chit-chat and visiting going on, you know what I mean?
It was focused enough, that the class that was scheduled for 4+ hours, was over and done with in a little over 3 hours, and I was tucked up in bed before the class was even due to be finished.
How good is that?
The only problem was, I drank a huge bottle of Coke last night before leaving home, to help with the headache and to help with concentration, (and it helps. It really does.) but the side effect of all that late evening Coke, was a bathroom marathon going on, once I got to bed last night.
I swear, I did miles of back and forth and back and forth all night long, and I spent more time running to the tootie, than I did actually sleeping.
Which in my humble opinion, is the main reason for going to bed in the first place.
Damn this menopause crap...
Once you get past the years of babies and the kids keeping you up and running at night, the girlie works shut down and the bladder stuff starts happening. It's not fair, and it's not right...
Most women, once the kids grow up and move away from home, take up collecting stuff like fancy gee-gaws or salt and pepper shakers and the like.
I collect directions to public restrooms between here and the border.
I have a notebook filled with directions to each and every toilet between here and wherever we're going.
Because there's nothing worse than hanging on for the last 6 miles to the nearest toilet, and then finding out the hard way, that they don't have toilet paper... or finding that the sink has been used as a barbecue pit for a bunch of young hooligans.
So, with my handy-dandy little guide and ratings system, I know that if we're going from here to... oh, let's say Bendigo, I need to double check that we have a spare roll of dunny paper in the car, and I need to pack an extra bottle of hand sanitizer, because there's no public sink for the next 40 miles or so.
How pathetic is my life?
Why did no one, in all those years of hearing talk about the freedom to do whatever you want once you got older, ever mention that your life would now be ruled by your bladder?
I am getting old, aren't I? And here I thought it was just my bladder that was gettin' old....)