My brain hurts

At least my brain doesn't actually hurt now, except for a background grumble, because I have swallowed chemicals; but it hurt dully last night when I went to bed, and it hurt badly enough to wake me in the middle of the night. Which might have been a fit reward for drinking, except that I hadn't - well, no more than my standard half-bottle, which does not provoke headaches.

And it hurt again or still this morning, so in some lackadaisical manner I suppose I must be ill. No other symptoms, and Co-Codamol will kick it in the goolies every time it tries to stand up again, so I guess I can function. Reluctantly. If I want to. Haven't noticeably been trying much, I confess: sitting on the sofa, mostly, reading book.

Maybe it's just accumulated anxiety: that has to be toxic. Bleah.

In other news, went for a walk with my friend and his dog yesterday and we did Boy Stuff: lifting large Weimeraner over barbed-wire fences, using trees to get over our own selves (quick chorus of "Oh, get over yourself...!", but you know what I mean), slipping on muddy slopes &c. It was probably more fun when I was fifteen, but hey. There's still a residual kick to it, even with a bad back and the need to do one's own laundry.