Breathing easier.

Dinner last night with Brother Sushi. Wasn’t entirely sure, mid-day, if I would have enough oomph to get to that point. [After the squirreloncrack feeling that Alison described in her comment, the coming-down is Seriously Not Fun. I hope I never have to take prednisone again.] But I did make it, if barely. I was worn to a Ravelling all day. Did not sleep well, and after five or six weeks without touching a Cherry Coke (yay, me!) I had to break down and buy a bottle.

I am smart enough to know that such bone-weariness is not a function of caffeine deficiency, notwithstanding what some of my good friends might say. I attribute it to three-plus weeks of respiratory issues; two courses of medication in a middle-aged body; two lengthy experiences of working in the Spirit (the single adult conference, followed two weeks later by General Conference) which gave me a renewed appreciation for how Joseph Smith might have felt after that fourth interview with the angel Moroni; a natural uncertainty about where this dating relationship is going; and the usual wear-and-tear of family stuff and daily life.

No, I am not saying that you girls make me sick. Just hush!

Anyway, I was tired, and 20 ounces of Cherry Coke got me through the workday, leaving me with a slight headache as I rode down in the elevator to the parking garage.

I met up with Brother Sushi at Chop House Burgers, where we shared some of Kenny’s excellent sweet potato fries (the remnants of which are in my fridge and beginning to call my name enticingly), and I ate a burger which helped to set my world back on its rails. Brother Sushi and I talked about everything and nothing, solved a few of the world’s problems [no need to send a thank you note, but you’re welcome], and ate ourselves silly.

I needed some silly. And I spent several hours in the presence of a righteous priesthood holder (he is falling out of his chair to hear himself described that way) who may not be the man I would very much like to fall in love with, but who was and is the tough, loving, and loyal friend whom I have missed fiercely because of all this stupid sickness, and whom I needed to see at that time and in that place.

You will probably not be surprised to know that the headache came back as I was driving home, but after a decent night’s sleep [in two or possibly more increments] it is gone.

He doesn’t like taking prednisone any more than I do, and for much the same reasons. We both like to feel in possession of ourselves, where the mind and spirit are in charge, and the body takes orders. Disciplined and disciple come from the same root. For me, some medicines open up a little wiggle room between here and the hereafter. Dextro-methorphan is like running up a white flag and inviting the bad guys to come in and tromp through the tulip beds. Which is why I resisted Mucinex for so long, until my wonderful doctor explained the difference between D and DM. I get horrible nightmares with DM, the kind where I have to roll out of bed onto my knees and pray, sobbing, until the Spirit’s influence comes back to reassure me. Prednisone is more subtle. I still don’t like it.

So: this morning, no headache, normal appetite, breathing easily, thinking clearly. This bodes well.

We have a ward picnic at church later this morning. I am picking up a tub of potato salad as my contribution and hoping that I do not have to run any of the games for the children. I just want to be obedient, show up, eat a little, visit with the friends I have not seen for three weeks, and come back home for a nap. There is an unofficial singles activity on the far north side of Dallas tonight, and I am down as a definite-maybe for that; while I would get to see the new guy (whom I also have not seen for three weeks, but we have been in touch by phone, chat, and email), I think it would be wiser to stay home, finish my lesson for Primary tomorrow, and try for an early bedtime. There is a dance next Saturday night, and we will both be there, plus I am going fishing in about ten days.