(Line from one of my favorite hymns.) But I've been trying to figure out how to share something without making my children freak out. I'm OK. Really. The commode broke my fall.
One week ago today, I awoke about 2:00a.m to answer nature's call. Washed my hands, turned to reach for the towel, and down I went. I wasn't dizzy. I didn't faint. I didn't even have time to swear. Just "uh-oh" as I plummeted.
I know all the things it wasn't. And I may have a handle on what it was. (Build-up of heat protection hair product I recently began using? Containing a bunch of stuff ending in "-one", so possibly related to silicone? That would certainly do the trick.)
Nothing broke. Including the commode. I didn't have a mark on me anyplace that's covered by my temple garments. I had a bruise the size of my fist, and enough colors to make a peacock proud, on the inside of my upper left arm. It is now a Nike swoosh about three inches long and significantly faded.
I sat on the side of my bed and gave thanks that I wasn't seriously hurt. (My head didn't even come close to hitting the tub.) And then I cried like a two year old for a couple of minutes, interspersed with the praying.
I was supposed to get a massage last night, but I was still expressing an allergic reaction to the alfredo pizza I had for lunch on Tuesday. Massive bloating, actual pain from the distension, followed several hours later by swelling and itching that did not *quite* break into hives. Yesterday all that remained were the borderline hives.
We had TexMex for Christmas dinner. I took one look at all the tomato sauce and opted for two small chicken fajita tacos with cheese, guacamole and sour cream. And a couple of cookies. I have a better appreciation for how Fourthborn feels, with her severe nut allergy.
I drove for almost four hours on Christmas, in two chunks. The home stretch was saved only by Fourthborn's company on the first half. I had to stop and buy a Cherry Coke to (a) break up the gastric distress and (b) stay awake.
So last night we did energy work. Confirmed that I am sensitive to tomatoes. Sadly, also to alfredo sauce. And stainless steel. And copper. But not to nickel or tin or gold or silver or surgical steel. I should learn to cook with cast iron. And until we have the time to do a 26 hour rebalancing, I should use my actual silverware, or plasticware, and it wouldn't hurt to get a couple of ceramic knives.
Thankfully, this is payday.
And then we went to work on the emotional issues. Cleared a bushel of those. Connected the onset of my swelling left ankle with the decay of my marriage to the children's father. Connected a new symptom with having absorbed some of the crazy from his new fiancée when I met her on Christmas Day. Bat poop crazy does not begin to describe it. Connected my right elbow to the burden of "carrying" him for so long. Connected other symptoms with my relationship, or lack thereof, with the twins. Connected others with hurt, anger and guilt over stuff with my own kids. I do a lot better at unscrambling the metaphors when I work with Sarah. It's very much a case of "where two or three are gathered in His name". We had several moments last night when she named an emotion and asked if I could relate a time or an event. I would, and the Spirit would confirm it, and we would both go "whoa". Energy work normally takes us maybe 20 minutes. We worked steadily for over an hour and a half, long enough that my knee started hurting because it thought I was driving again.
Got rid of a lot of stuff last night. And need to write letters to four of my kids. (Lines of communication have never been clearer with one of them. So that would be a want-to and not a need-to.)
And oh, by the way? The line of credit will be paid off by close of business today.