Okay, moment over. The reason for this wonderment is that this week I gave blood for the first time. There was a drive at work, and it's one of those things that just seems like such a good thing to do that when it's that convenient, why wouldn't you? So I did. Passed the barrage of questions about where my blood and I have been, had an acceptable blood pressure and iron level, and began pumping away.
I was a little nervous, because there's the whole "Wait ten minutes to stand up, eat a cookie, etc." business. But I was fine. Had a Tootsie Pop, squirreled away a snack pack of Oreos and Nutter Butters and was on my way to an afternoon of productive documentation work. I felt a little drained maybe, but fine.
The trouble was when I got home. The sofa just felt so darned comfy I waited too long to start making dinner, a savory oatmeal with beef jerky and dried cherries. Yes, I'm weird, moving swiftly on. Anyway, I had the liquids warming up, was measuring out the oatmeal when my mom came home and asked me how I was feeling. "Fine," I said. "I can feel my lack of food a little..."
Right on cue, there it was. That knee-buckling sensation that you must put yourself closer to the ground. I knelt to the ground, and the next thing I know, I'm staring at the dust under the refrigerator and being spoon-fed cinnamon honey butter for a quick boost of sugar. Ahh, sweet elixir of life. Thank you, cute little teddy bear on the label, for bringing me back.
After walking my mother through the rest of the process of my strange oatmeal concoction, I spent the rest of the night delicately on the sofa, making sure I could stand up, and thinking of things to eat. The next day I paranoically ate a Starburst in the middle of the morning to bypass a feeling of faintness which may or may not have been real.
But now I'm fine, fully-nourished and feeling slightly better prepared for the next blood drive. You know what that means: I'm bringing my jar of honey butter.