dynamic elf

I regularly fall off of my shoes.

Not even heels - we're talking clogs, here. Sneakers. Anything with a sole at least 1" deep. I'll be walking down the street, or turning to reach something in the kitchen, or even just standing and shifting my weight, and suddenly my shoe will betray me, my ankle bending toward the floor as I sail awkwardly off to one side. It's usually slow enough that I hold my arms out and flap like a cartoon character. Mostly, it seems to unsettle people -- why is she doing that? Did something happen? No, nothing happened. Yes, I'm fine. I'm just falling off my shoes.

I am so groggy this morning that I forgot my own food allergies and ordered an egg and cheese croissant. At least I left off the sausage...

[Poll #1575379]

A note, because it matters! I mean the one that runs lengthwise, like a spine in the middle of your mouth where your palates fused together.

Okay, I need to go out dancing more often. It's *fun*.

First, bad RSI-type arm pain. Then, debilitating vertigo for a day, bad enough that spike took me to the ER. Diagnosis: not a brain tumor! BPPV. Which is nice and all, but more or less seems to amount to "sometimes this shit just happens and you can't walk, surprise!"

Yeah so anyway last night I ended up at Sound Bites with redheadedmuse who caught me on film doing exactly what I had been doing before she whipped out the camera. I just wish it had been spicier.

Yesterday I woke up at my usual time just as tired as when I went to bed, so I took a sick day and slept an extra FIVE HOURS, at which point I woke up feeling ... normal, if kinda slow.

I get the message, body. I'll sleep more. This time for real.

It is perhaps unfair that when you run out of cope, run out of ability to deal with the world, when you can't even get dressed or cut your own meat, it is the people closest to you who have to deal with your bitchy self-centered pain and drama about not being able to get dressed or cut your own meat. And by you, I mean me.

I had a sunburn of epic proportions, recently. Bad like I probably should have gone to the hospital bad, and even with ibuprofen and aloe and lidocaine I couldn't sleep well for days. Everything sucked, everything was hard. I was lucky enough to have taken a few days off of work already, and I'm lucky to have the kind of life where if I need to, I can sleep in (ha ha sleep) and get a couple extra hours of rest. I'm lucky to have the kind of relationship with my body where I know that even though driving and sitting in chairs is excruciating, biking 12 miles will be totally fine (and in fact, it was the best thing I did for my body the two days we did that). Good thing I did, too -- it's hard for me to be completely wiped out while simultaneously having my muscles screaming at me because I hadn't exercised. I was pretty much afraid to even show people my skin for a week, and even after that much time people would wince and gasp when I uncovered my back. It was a wreck. But it's basically healed now. I don't think I have any scars, though I bet I'll have the tanlines of that particular bathing suit for a year. Maybe more.

Saturday, I went canoeing with veek and N on a lake in Maine. The first island we got to had some broken glass, so we found another, where we clambered on rocks and ate huckleberries and blueberries (highbush and lowbush) and watched ducks jump up to gobble berries from high branches. It came time to go home and make food and eat supper and read stories, so we paddled all the way back. But for this three mile lake jaunt, I was in the back the whole way, using the same side the whole way, and not thinking about my arms at all. I followed this up with some failure to take advil and then recreational dehydration; this led to poor sleep, which led to a day of complete grouchiness until some time in the afternoon I realized that my left arm hurt so much I couldn't pick stuff up, even towels. I couldn't even point at things. I couldn't pick up my kid or use both hands to get myself water. This came as a complete surprise to me, which made me into a bit of a grouchopotamus, because my left hand? I use it a lot. It's Monday and I couldn't even imagine biking today, which sort of put a wrench into our plans to have another Family Bike Jaunt. But veek and spike took care of me, and dilletante takes care of me, and later I will ask ceelove if she can poke my arm at some point to tell me what I did and what I should do next. It feels just like muscle fatigue, but it's in a place where that is extremely inconvenient at best; will I be able to get to work tomorrow? Will I have to take the train?

I realize that these are pretty cushy problems -- two temporary, self-inflicted, stupidity-based injuries that will heal and go away, in an environment where I am surrounded by people who love me and want to help even when I hate accepting help and cry about it. But it SUCKS to not be able to live my life by myself. I am reminded of how much I disliked my own pregnancy-induced helplessness and all of its associated problems. I got my skin back, now I want my hand back. My body! Mine!

It's strong, it's mine, and it almost always tells me what I need to know. Today it said: you are sick! sleep all day!, and so I did, and I'm feeling much better. Not better enough to stay up much longer, though, so back to bed it is. *whump*

[Poll #1172427]

I have that "I exercised this morning RAAAAAAAR" feeling all over.