Another weekend spoiled by sickness

I swear I never get sick.  But in the last six months, two weekends have been destroyed by unexpected illness.  In April, I got hit with a gastritis attack.  This past weekend, well, I still don't really know what I had.

The weekend started out just fine.  I had a good five-mile run Friday night, then I watched the Rangers lose, and read some blogs since my blog reader had more than 100 in the queue.

Saturday morning, I slept in a little and then took myself to see "Guardians of the Galaxy."

I absolutely loved it.  Then again, I was pretty sure I would based on the reviews of my friends and ... well, Chris Pratt.  Love him.

Then I ran some errands and came home to give my apartment a good cleaning.  The one good thing about having a one bedroom place is that it doesn't take long to clean everything.  I knew I'd be done around 4:30, which would give me time to clean myself up and go to a baseball game.

This is where things went south.

As I finished cleaning, I felt a little lightheaded.  I chalked it up to using cleaners in the bathroom -- a small enclosed space -- and opened the windows a little wider and sat down to relax a little.  I thought the feeling would pass.  It didn't.  It got worse.  I became so dizzy that the room was spinning anytime I sat up.  And my stomach let me know it wasn't happy with that.  Feeling miserable, I laid down "for a few moments."  I woke up three hours later.  I never nap.  So I knew there was really something wrong. And I still couldn't sit up without the room rotating around me.  Clearly, there would be no Iowa Cubs game for me that night.

Living alone when you're sick is a blessing and a curse.  On one hand, you can sleep wherever and whenever and as much as you want.  And you can wander around the house without pants and not offend anyone.  On the other hand, there is no one to make you food or bring you water and Gatorade.  Sigh.  I knew I needed to eat something, so I fought through the spinning and tilting room enough to make some dry toast, which I ate while I watched the Anna Kendrick rerun of "Saturday Night Live."  Then I went to bed and slept for ten hours.

I woke up Sunday feeling slightly better, but still not 100 percent.  Certainly not well enough to run the five miles listed on my training plan.  And I also decided I wasn't well enough to go have a long-planned movie day with two friends.  Sigh.  I stayed home and tried to rest while doing my normal Sunday duties -- preparing meals and doing laundry for the week.

I'm now feeling slightly better.  The room doesn't spin anymore although my equilibrium is still a little compromised.  And my head aches and feels foggy.

The medical folks in my life are guessing a virus settled in my ears and was stirred up while I was cleaning.  Whatever it is, I'm ready for it to leave so I can feel normal again.  Or at least more like myself.  I won't presume to think that I'm normal.

P.S. I think this means I shouldn't have to clean my house again because it's hazardous to my health.  Right?