When the kids woke up this morning, I had had such crappy sleep that DH got up with them for the first hour.
It's not so much that I didn't sleep as it is that my sleep was all a big nightmare. Literally. I'm not sure what store I'd just come out of, but I was in a parking lot walking to my car when I saw someone shoot somebody else (I'm really not into sketching details on this, but it was extremely graphic) between two parked cars. In my horror, I paused briefly and the gunman looked up and saw me.
I turned and ran - dimly in my head I heard someone say that I should be running zigzag and not straight, so that he'd be likely to miss me or at least miss any vital organs. Do you know how hard it is to DO that when all you want is to get out of there? I tried, and shots whizzed past me - only two of them, and then the third grazed my right forearm, opening a hot path of blood that ran down my fingers and off my elbow as I kept going.
I'm not sure how, but I gained some ground on him (must've been in high school shape instead of post-baby Infernal :-p) and ducked into an almost-abandoned mall (I think maybe it was just closed for the day, and no I don't know how I got in in that case). It occurred to me that my bleeding arm was leaving a trail, so I stripped my shirt off and tied it around the wound as best I could before going any further.
There was a cleaning lady ahead of me, and she looked startled by my presence (and probably by my disheveled, bloody appearance as well). I asked her if there was anywhere I could hide, and she opened the cleaning closet for me. I crawled in and had just gotten turned around to face the open door, thinking I would pile cleaning stuff in front of me, close it, and be relatively safe, when I heard footsteps and the cleaning lady's startled cry. She tried to explain that she didn't know what the gunman was asking about (me), but he yelled that there was blood just inside the mall and he knew I was there.
She protested one too many times. One shot and her body hit the floor. Footsteps.
He paused in front of the open closet, and I willed myself invisible. I heard him say something like "Huh...interesting" and he walked off. I didn't hear footsteps any longer, so I cautiously shut myself in - the exact giveaway he'd been waiting for.
I flinched so violently with the first shots that I woke myself up, but I know I died.
That extra hour of sleep (such as it was, with linebacker baby screaming for part of it) helped take the edge off, but I still got up with a bone-level weariness that was hard to shake off. (I did get a nap later, thankfully.)
When I walked into the kitchen to fix breakfast for little one, she requested pretzels. I gave her two while she was waiting, and took one for myself. I'm not even sure how it happened, but the pretzel I had must've already been badly cracked, because a piece of it broke off and went down my throat without any deliberate action from me. Predictably, it got stuck and I started choking.
I was afraid DH was going to have to do the abdominal thrust on me - I couldn't answer when he asked if I was ok (I had pounded my fist on the bar to get his attention). He was coming toward me when it moved just enough so that I could cough. About ten minutes of wracking coughs ensued (my guesstimate there - might've only been five, but it felt like forever), such that by the time the damned thing was actually out, I was lightheaded even though I could breathe a bit between coughs, and my throat was so sore I couldn't talk beyond a rasp. It gave me a funky headache, too - it felt like someone clamped a metal bar around my skull on top and in the back.
No more pretzels for Infernal for a little while. :-p Talk about embarrassing!
Would you believe it's been a decent day, all told? My throat is still sore, my head hurts, and I haven't showered yet, but life is good anyway. :)



