It took a long time to fall asleep last night.
Almost ten years ago, I tore a tendon in my right ankle, on the medial side, more up the calf than the ankle itself. Subsequently I have this weird instability that, thank God, only rears its ugly head a couple times a year these days.
On the drive to church Sunday, it was threatening any time I touched the gas pedal, then seemed to dissipate as I went about my business. It came back full force last night as I was trying to sleep. I laid there & prayed. “Dear God,” I repeated, “Please stop my ankle from popping out. I cannot deal with that pain tonight. I can’t. And I need to be able to drive to work tomorrow.”
I fell asleep & dreamt I could do parkour, which was handy because I lived in a concrete bunker apartment building with no stairs, & I was on the third floor. I had to dodge a bunch of bad guys to get home. Once I entered, Christopher handed me a program for High Mass (which is pretty much standard Sunday stuff for me), & I found Plucky seated in my kitchen, surrounded by empty liquor bottles, lecturing the floor about cat care.
Upon waking I figured this dream meant church is my home, but then why is drunk Plucky in my church? And then I asked myself, why not? If she ever leaves Ashville, I’m gonna ask her to come with me. Like I do.
Is this my calling? Is Jesus calling me as super weird as He possibly can?
Anyhow, I woke up feeling kind of ok, but off, & went to work. I was there for a half hour. Even after taking pain meds, the pain got worse. My ankle didn’t didn’t hurt so much (though it was unstable), but I was in fibro flare. My shoulders, my back, & my forearms were becoming bricks of pain. I managed to pick up an ankle brace & some food before I caused a vehicular accident–small mercies.
At home I ate & collapsed, but I also now had more time to do NaNo. I have created characters I would want to hang out with, & that makes writing a breeze. Then I dorked around on Facebook for a while.
Father Ian (that’s Canon Ian to you) had posted something about taking confessions, & I replied that I had been thinking about that sacrament, funnily enough. But as I’d never done it before, where do I start? “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. When I was 6, I said something cruel to a boy to spare myself embarrassment & I still fear to this day that I scarred him for life. When I was 7 I didn’t want to get stung by a bee again, so I kind of shoved this boy in the bee’s path & he got stung.” Wait. As an adult, that last one doesn’t even make sense. You can’t actually shove a child into the path of a bee. Bees aren’t trains.
Maybe I should confess, so Father can tell me these things! Anyhow, he said to come over for tea & we’ll talk about it. I will see if he means it Sunday. Tea does sound very nice. I could ask him my fornication questions (see yesterday), but I’m not sure anyone short of a brimstone Baptist can take that subject seriously.
I then watched Scream Queens (kinda meh this week) & then got into bed & called the boyfriend. And here I am with you.
He is coming for Thanksgiving. I am stoked! I’ll have to make sure I have a pumpkin pie for him; that’s his favourite. Happily, it is also my brother’s. They can split it.