September 11, 2013

Shadows is here!

Latest in a series of arrrrrrghs

 

I SOMETIMES THINK GOD HAS A FUNNY NOT HA-HA SENSE OF HUMOUR.

Tomorrow is my first anniversary as a Christian.  I am ONE YEAR OLD tomorrow.

And the day after that my Street Pastor training starts.

I have a thundering headache, the kind that makes you feel sick, the kind of toothache that means it and I’m going to have to ring dentist from R’lyeh tomorrow—tomorrow—AND my back’s in spasm.

I woke up this morning feeling physically better than lately* so I decided I would reform** and start doing the frelling exercises that Tabitha keeps nagging me about.***

You’re supposed to do them while you’re still in bed.  She says it’s a nice way to get started in the morning.†  Yes and she drinks wheatgrass almond milk smoothies for breakfast, hoovers her pale beige and cream-coloured carpeting every day and has NO VICES except for smuggling hashish from India . . . no, no, I made that last one up.

So I did my frelling exercises.  And when I finally rolled panting out of bed . . . I couldn’t stand up.  My back went AAAAAAAAAAAAUGH and seized up like a bunch of hot pistons welding themselves to their cylinder walls.

That’s also when the headache started.  The toothache has been lurking for several days while I tried to persuade it it didn’t mean it.††  Today it decided it meant it.  THANK YOU SO MUCH.

I spent the morning standing up at the kitchen counter at the cottage. †††  I also took delivery on 1,000,000,000,000 baby plug plants and spring bulbs that I will have to bend over to get into the ground.  Some day.  Not today.

Wednesday is also the Zen-style silent prayer sit at St Margaret’s.  I’ve already been having a stupid time with this the last few weeks because one of my knees has decided it’s no longer up for this cross-legged lark and I keep trying to find a way to placate it.  I’ve told you this, haven’t I?  I’ve gone all Pavlov’s dog about my zazen cushion so that when I sit on it I sit QUIETLY which in all ordinary circumstances is not one of the options. I do not sit quietly.‡  And now all that indoctrination has gone for nothing?  Today I went in and couldn’t sit, let alone cross my blasted legs without my knee staging a mutiny.  ARRRRRRRRRRRRGH.‡‡

Southdowner and I had planned an Epic Hellterror Adventure tomorrow‡‡‡ which I am clearly now not up for.  So we are having a sub-epic hellterror adventure tomorrow.  Which is better than nothing.  Sigh.  Supposing I can put the emergency visit to the dentist off till Friday.  When my Street Pastor training starts.  Did I mention my Street Pastor training starting this weekend?  I did?  Did I tell you about the totally obscure and obfuscatory on-line signing-up procedure I had to endure today?  I’m expecting, when I turn up for the first session Friday evening, for the door guard to go, PING!  NOT YOU!  YOU TICKED THE WRONG LITTLE BOX!  Did I tell you there’s a ringing outing on Saturday that I really wanted to go on only I can’t, because I’m TRAINING TO BE A FRELLING STREET PASTOR, WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS ANYWAY?§  Oh, and the poor woman who is supposed to be my ride to Lesser Disconcerting, which is too far for me to drive and attend classes without melting into a little puddle of viscous myalgic encephalomyelitis, has child care problems and may not be able to make it at all. . . . §§

* * *

* This has something to do with stress levels.  I’m not good at stress and then I have an (ahem) overfull life so that when something like this still-ongoing bank disaster gets dropped on me like one of those gigantic tiger-catching nets in an old Hollywood saga about big game hunters I go a bit paralytic.^

^ I would make a very bad tiger.  I probably wouldn’t even try to eat Clark Gable or Rory Calhoun or whoever.

** After all, it’s the day before my first anniversary as a Christian.  I should be straining to become as holy as possible as rapidly as possible, especially considering my advanced age.

*** I hate exercises!  I have dogs so I have to walk them even when it’s raining stair-rods, even when the wind chill factor is something from the moons of Jupiter!  So that my extremely annoying post-menopausal metabolism is forced to burn two or three calories!  I used to do yoga pretty seriously but . . . exercises?  Exercises just because they’re GOOD for you?!?  Get away from me with that thing!

† Pardon me but !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

†† Sometimes this works.  No, really.

††† Much to the hellterror’s consternation.  She’s accustomed to cavorting about in the morning and making everything take twice as long as it has to because she’s in the WAAAAY and then when I settle down at the computer she gets a lap.

‡ When the hellterror is in my lap we fidget together.

‡‡ So I leaned quietly.  Aloysius suggested piling my assortment of cushions on a chair.  With an extra cushion to support my wretched back this worked pretty well.  Prayer is good.  When you stop gnawing on your own vitals for a minute everything kind of calms down. Including your blood pressure.  Dear God, grant me serenity.  The peace that passeth all understanding is probably beyond me even by extreme grace, but common garden-variety serenity would be great.

‡‡‡ Hellcritters are children of God too, you know.

§  Oh.  Yeah.  God’s.  Whatever.^

^ Although I’m a little unsettled by some of the reactions you get when you tell people that’s what you’re up to.  The non-Christians tend merely to think you’re mad, which is fine.  I’ve been going for the ‘mad’ option most of my life, this reassures me I’m doing the right thing.  The Christians . . . by no means all of them, but a significant minority seem to think it’s walking on water territory or at least tending the poor in the Black Hole of Calcutta.  It isn’t.  We’re not even talking council estates in east London, for pity’s sake, this is HAMPSHIRE.  Even (most of) the criminals are (relatively) polite.  But ask me again Sunday night.  No, Monday.  Sunday night I’ll probably be lying on the floor whimpering.  Although that may just be my back. . . .

§§ But the Saturday classes are local.  So I can’t bunk off and go ringing.

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