I spent last night in the institutional version of a comfy room with a camera trained on the bed, an intercom, wires attached to my chest, legs, head (in three places), breathing monitors hooked up to my chest and abdomen. All these wires were attached to a clunky device the size of an 80s walkie talkie and called, disconcertingly, the Sandman, which attached itself to two separate machines. Voices through the intercom kept telling me to turn over, quit squirming, and woke me up throughout the night to reattach wires I subconsciously tore out.

This is what you do in a sleep study. In the morning they ask you how you slept and, to be polite, you should say quite well. A blatant lie, since the clinic technicians have spent the night watching you breathe, shift, toss and turn, and have known as soon as you open your eyes or snore.

The latest doctorb suggested that the reason for my pain might be that I never reach deep, restorative sleep. So at my next appointment I'll find out if I do. If my night there is any indication, I probably don't. But it's over now, and it was covered by OHIP to boot. God bless universal healthcare.

Hoo boy. In the past month I've been busy with a breakup, a bad haircut, a bachelorette party, and a birthday. The last one isn't really part of the twentysomething scavenger hunt but since it was Mason's I'd like to mention it anyway.

It's less than three weeks 'till Italy. When I was in a fabric store yesterday the owners, a lovely old Italian lady and her husband, chatted my ear off about Italy, all of it, and the homemade pizza Margherita she just happened to have on her* tasted like nonnas.

Less than three weeks 'till Italy means even one day less to Kayli and Andrew's wedding. (Kayli's was the staggette I attended Saturday night.) I think they have more to anticipate than I do, but then again my family's weddings are about as fun as they get. I wonder if there will be a meat bar this time?

The italian word of the day is conto alla rovescia. It means countdown.

Notes:
*she just happened to have: For real. She said, "I make this for my neighbour. You eat! You eat!"