For those of you wondering if I've dropped off the face of the planet, no, I haven't.

It's just that time again, that time of the month when it's time to stop taking pills and allow myself the ultimate luxury of being walloped for three days with the greatest joy being a carrier of estrogen and progesterone will buy.

Fortunately, this month did not see vomiting (as have almost all other previous months of my life). This month has just seen a two day headache that will not really go away. Past experience has taught me that it will eventually, but sitting around in the batcave, in the dark, walking slowly lest I accidently raise my heartrate and cause my head to pound further has become slightly wearing upon my soul. I actually took yesterday as an actual sick day, because I did nothing other than answer an email or two. I'm out of my normal meds, should get some from the drugstore tonight, and I'm out of solpadeine! (the horror!) with it's terrible two week lead time (I ordered some last night). So this sounds nasty, but vicks under your eye, nose, an ice pack on your head, and a heating pad on my shoulders, and no movement?

Just the ticket.

Sorry, gang, that's not much of a post. I have things rattling around in my little head, but I'm not in the best shape at putting pen to paper.

Countdown to Navarre: 23 days!

Note: I have not begun packing. I regard this as real progress. However, I have found a new cooler that I wish to buy from L.L. Bean, because it's perfect...perfect for the beach. And I can't even carry the one we have now. It's broken anyway.

Who am I kidding...what do you think?