a woman's just too tired to think

I have a lovely doctor. I wandered into her office yesterday for various routine checkup thingies, and mentioned the insomnia, whereupon she prescribed an extremely mild anti-depressant that caused me to sleep until 9.30 this morning, and to entirely omit my currently standard 2am bout of sleepwalking. Then I mentioned I was all tired and glandular and sinusy again, and she looked at me narrowly and put me off work for the rest of the week, muttering to herself about taking time off after deaths in the family. Then she did this entirely cool thing with a syringe, which I'm going to hide under a cut in case it squicks anyone on the grounds of either needles or TMI in the Girl Troubles department. ( Read at your peril. )

So, I'm at home today and tomorrow, drifting gently around the house in a vague sort of way and occasionally thinking "Gosh, actually I really needed this break." As a bonus, our ace carpenter man has just finished putting a desk and shelves into my study, which is now an extremely wonderful space filled with space and shelving and cunning boxes for keeping computers in. I'm very happy. Observe the acres of desk.



Hobbit also apparently approves of the bookshelves.



I shall spend the long weekend reshelving books, although this has to wait until the Evil Landlord has lugged the boxes around for me, since the other thing the Nice Doctor checked was my weird wrist, which hurts when I lift heavy things. (Doctor: "Well, don't lift heavy things, then!" [exasperated look]. Me [vaguely]: "Gosh, yes, I suppose that makes sense.")