If it's not one thing...

So, last week, I had a nastybad cold. I couldn't breathe, which meant I also couldn't sleep. Or think. Or eat. Plus I just felt nasty.

Well, I finally got feeling better, and had to catch up on all the housework that I was unable to do while I was laying on the couch feeling sorry for myself. I did the dishes a little at a time while I started feeling better, I made cookies for the 11-year-old boy scouts, and I even made six loaves of bread--4 of which are pretty loaves of dough in my freezer at the moment.

So, yesterday, while my man was at work, I decided I was going to surprise him with all I would manage to do. I sorted the laundry, which I was going to do when he got home and I had the car (since he had class). I did all the dishes that were left. I put things away. I cleaned the counters, the stove (including all the removable parts of the burners), and the microwave. I put the rug in the laundry. Things were going well, and I was going to have time to spare before my guy got home, where I'd do other awesome wife-y things.

Then, I started to sweep the floor.

That, apparently, was my downfall. I started to sweep and felt a little twinge in my back. "Ow..." I thought, and kept sweeping. Then... "OW!" More pain. I bent over to pick up a pushpin from the floor... and could hardly stand up. I tried once again to sweep (I was DETERMINED to get that floor swept), and had to give up. I put the broom away (for some odd reason), left the pile of dirt on the floor (there was NO WAY it was going to get taken care of at that point), and painfully made my way into the living room. After a sad attempt to get onto the futon, I managed to lower myself onto the floor in a somewhat laying-down position. I was able to text my man to inform him that I'd need some major help when he got home (as well as a major dose of ibuprofen), and the remote was within reach, so I watched some Dr. Phil while I waited for him to get off work.

So, I'm still in pain. I'm still dosed with ibuprofen. I'm still laying on the futon. My man was wonderful enough to make dinner the last two days, help me do the laundry today (it hurts to bend over or lift anything), and is making me lay on the couch until I get better. (Not that that last part is hard--it's about the only position that doesn't hurt a ton.) I'm sure church tomorrow is going to be interesting--three hours of sitting, two of that on a hard piano bench. Yikes. (Maybe I should take a pillow... would that be weird?)

I still have no idea what I did to myself. All I can figure is housework is dangerous! I should probably never clean the kitchen again, just in case.