Tabatha Twitchit takes a nap

And on the third day, he sought out the wisdom of the physicians.

Questions were asked, answers were questioned, blood was drawn. No evidence of wayward infection. Blood sugar was running 85, a little below normal but not low enough to trigger a reaction, and anyway it had been six hours since lunch. A cursory breathing examination suggested no abnormalities.

This left the muscle spasms as the likely culprit. I was prescribed Flexeril (cyclobenzaprine) to ward off the twitch, and, in an effort to reset my internal clock, a limited number of Ambien (zolpidem). Why the limit? "This is a temporary problem; we don't want you dependent on the stuff."

To Target to acquire drugs, and then to bed. For ten hours. I stretched it to eleven, and "stretched" is the word: the lower half of me felt like it had sprinted 100 yards, and my old friend Charley Horse greeted me as I swung out of bed. (The Ambien folks warn of sleepwalking as a possible side effect, though I'm pretty sure I ran in place.) On the upside, the brain fog has cleared up, and if I'm getting exercise late at night while I don't know it, I should probably consider myself fortunate.