Ok, so I've done absolutely nothing of value today at all.
This is primarily due to the unfortunate fact that at about 3:20 or so this morning (or about 14 and a half hours ago) I woke up feeling like hurling most, if not all, of everything I'd ever eaten somewhere as far away from my stomach as is possible.
This is, needless to say, an unpleasant way to greet the world, and one that I attempted to put right with a quick whack of maxalon. While it rumbled around in the firezone, I typed up a quick email to work explaining that I'd potentially not actually be there bright and early - or bright at all - due to said impending explosive decompression.
Then went back to bed.
Now, when most of the content of your insides has decided that it'd rather be on your outside, lying down isn't necessarily the most comfortable position in which to pass the time, what with gravity suddenly being at best neutral in the whole in-out battle. It being 3:20-something am, though, my mind wasn't necessarily as razor sharp as it usually is (particularly as it was busily trying to tell the rest of me that it was really all a dream and to quit being such a wuss and get back to sleep because 3-anything am is so not an appropriate time to be doing anything). So lie down I did. This was, potentially, not the most effective way to get the maxalon to actually quieten things down so, but being determined to be a total idiot, I stayed there until, despite all indications to the contrary, it did in fact manage to settle the nether-region-based-unrest and I fell back into dreamland.
From which, only seconds later, I was awakened by a particularly unpleasant squealing coming from the general direction of the alarm clock. I used that brief moment of consciousness to announce to anyone that was listening (fortunately, my nearest and dearest was) that I was unlikely to be stirring any time soon and fell back into a drug-induced coma.
Some time later, I awoke and rang the Salt Mine to tell my boss that I had, in fact, not been dreaming when I sent the email some hours earlier and that I'd likely not be making an appearance. This was followed by an extra-strong dose of a concoction specifically designed to ensure that any explosive decompression that is going to happen does not happen orally, if you get my drift.
Then went and dozed some more.
Then got up and checked mail and discovered that much to my visa's disgust there'll soon be a nice shiny new version of Sony Vegas Pro out, and decided that that was quite enough excitement for one day and went and dozed again.
Then went and did nothing some more.
Note that there has been no further mention of decompression, explosive or otherwise. While there is obviously, and at times painfully, quite a large chunk of what may well be C40 plastique explosive or its equivalent now occupying my increasingly large middle section, nothing has actually made any attempt to move in any particular direction.
This bodes not well.
It also means that my abandoning any pretence at seeking medical assistance due to the perceived need to stay close to the smallest room in the house (a wise contingency, I thought) seems now to have been somewhat over zealous.
So I shall call the local "we're open till forever" local doctor and see if I can get in there this evening, and hope that the ride down there doesn't set off some terribly unpleasant Chernobylesque chain reaction. If it does, I'd suggest that a large swathe of Southern Brisbane may be uninhabitable for quite some time.....
Stay tuned for more. Pictures at 11.