Let's see, it all started Saturday afternoon. Boyd and I went to get massages. The massages were great but I woke up Sunday with a little stiffness in my back. Sometimes I have them go with the deep-tissue massage and I did on my back. . . .a little. So that's how it started. Massage. Then I go to Church on Sunday and I'm the chorister in the Primary. It's very energetic and sometimes sucks out all of my. . . . whatever my thing is, like I come out all weak and tired and sweaty. Anyway, Boyd has saved us a chair in the very back of the chapel (we exist in a self-imposed exile of the ward) It was a missionary farewell, so we give up our padded seats to a family that looked like they were there for the farewell and we took some hard, metal folding chairs in the back of the auditorium. They are so extremely uncomfortable, I was antsy the entire meeting. We actually made a dash for the door during the closing song. So from massage, to primary, to hard folding chair, are you following? Next we picked up Jason's Uncle Barry, who is visiting her ex-wife that lives on our street (that is a entire story for another day) and we took Uncle Barry with us in my 1995 Honda Accord (her name is Alice) and she has no AC and we drove downtown (with the windows down on the freeway, it was hot, windy and loud - cause I forgot to say my muffler is shot too) to Trolley Square and met "The Galbisos" (that is not an Italian hit-mob,) for dinner. We ate at the Rodizio Grill - an "all you can eat" establishment. So, of course I loose any semblance of self-control I have convinced myself that I have. I eat WAY too much. By the time we get home, I'm miserable, from sitting with a too-full tummy, trying to suck it in because it just wants to hang over the waist of my pants (Oh, I forgot to say that I wore a pair of jeans fresh out of the dryer, so they extra tight - especially around the waistband) So my back that was hurting to start with is really hurting, my tummy is churning and I just want to vomit, or fart or poo or something that will make the full-ness go away. We get home (at 8:30 which is waaaayyy past my bedtime, but there is no way I can go to bed with what I have in my tummy) and I start watering lawns and doing laundry thinking that if I moooove (not a spelling error, I felt as big as a bovine) around I will start to feel better. Evidently I was moaning and groaning and being a real PIP. So as I'm getting ready to go to bed, my dear sweet Boyd says "I'm giving you a muscle relaxer to take, you always have a hard time sleeping on Sunday nights, take it it will make you feel better." Well, who am I to pass up an opportunity to get a good nights sleep. So I pop that baby in my mouth at about 10:00 p.m., and about an hour later I take my ambien. What a combo, I know what it means to "sleep like the dead". To make a long story short - well not short because it's already long. I'll wind things up. I slept great, I woke up feeling refreshed - at 9:00 a.m. I slept thru my alarm, did not go walking (I meet my friend and we walk for 1 hour every morning - that I show up) and decided to drive Benny to work. Once again I'm reminded that there are crazy people driving the "mean streets" and I was in the midst of them. But, I arrived at work with nothing worse that a bad case of "helmet hair" I promptly clipped it back, and started to work. Now I just need to make it back home! So if you lost track it went like this: massage = sore back = going to church with sore back = make back more sore with bad seating = go to dinner with The Galbisos = eating too much = more discomfort to my back = whining to my husband about my sore back = him giving me a muscle relaxer = sleep like the dead = wake up late = decide to take the scoot to work = life and death on the road = bad hair day = needing to drive back home on the scoot among the above mentioned crazies on the road. In case you were wondering if there was a moral to this story, there isn't. It's just a story!! My stupid massage, bad-back, eat-too-much, take good med's, get good sleep, ride to work story.
The end.
