As I lay with my cheek against the cold tiles in my kitchen, it dawned on me that perhaps it was time to clean the kick boards. You never really notice these things until you are eye-to-eye with the miscellaneous splatter. You also never notice those little sticky patches that pepper the floor. Invisible to the naked eye, but very tangible to my cheek as I peel it from the pale tile. If there was any doubt about my tactile senses, the accompanying sticky crackle as my skin slowly separates from the floor, confirms the presence of a little spot of ick. I convince myself that it's an errant drop of cordial rather than a spot of bin juice from a leaky garbage bag.
Please
be cordial.
Slowly I manoeuvre myself into what my yoga teacher always called the child's pose. Edging my way little by little, as every movement brings a threatening wave of darkness. Every millimeter a deafening roar in my ears and a greying of vision. I swallow down the vomit that threatens and continue my cautious choreography. All the while repeating my mantra.
Slowly I manoeuvre myself into what my yoga teacher always called the child's pose. Edging my way little by little, as every movement brings a threatening wave of darkness. Every millimeter a deafening roar in my ears and a greying of vision. I swallow down the vomit that threatens and continue my cautious choreography. All the while repeating my mantra.
It
was only cordial. It was only cordial.
Bent in half. Forehead on tiles. Arms folded back at my sides. Bum elegantly stuck up in the air. It is only now that I realise that somewhere between sliding down the kitchen cabinets and waking with my cheek superglued to the floor, I have wrenched my neck and shoulder. Focus on the pain not on all the potential sources of kitchen stickiness.
Bent in half. Forehead on tiles. Arms folded back at my sides. Bum elegantly stuck up in the air. It is only now that I realise that somewhere between sliding down the kitchen cabinets and waking with my cheek superglued to the floor, I have wrenched my neck and shoulder. Focus on the pain not on all the potential sources of kitchen stickiness.
It's
only cordial anyway.
I
take a deep breath and examine my inverted world. Time to vacuum,
that's for sure. And mop. Oh how it needs a mop. Between the
inadvertent remnants of cooking and a Great Dane who seems intent on
shedding her body weight in hair each week thanks to our fickle
weather, the floor is in desperate need of a scrub. As I lie there
trying not to breathe in a canine furball, I am once more hit by my
desire for a H2O Steam Mop. Because that's what comes to
mind when you are trying to avoid thinking about the fact that you
have just passed out in the kitchen. Too much morning TV. Those
annoying infommercials do their work, despite the irritating
pathological excitement of the presenters.
Did
you know it'll dissolve the crayon off your vinyl tiles? It'd make
short work of that patch of cordial.
Slowly I unwind. A desire to be far away from sticky tiles and dog detritus is a potent incentive to movement. Not that my body wants to comply. It seems to have blinkers on when it comes to domestic hygiene and would happily remain horizontal no matter how repulsive the state of the surface it lies upon. Not that my neck and shoulder don't offer up their own protest. Pursed lips and gritted teeth are all I have left to argue my determination to return to the vertical.
Slowly I unwind. A desire to be far away from sticky tiles and dog detritus is a potent incentive to movement. Not that my body wants to comply. It seems to have blinkers on when it comes to domestic hygiene and would happily remain horizontal no matter how repulsive the state of the surface it lies upon. Not that my neck and shoulder don't offer up their own protest. Pursed lips and gritted teeth are all I have left to argue my determination to return to the vertical.
Far
away from that patch of cordial. It was most definitely
cordial.
Head hanging down I grab the front of the cupboards and will myself up. I walk my way upwards. The rest of the word retreats to the periphery as my focus narrows to the necessities of each movement. The slow release and placement of each hand all that matters. The texture of the laminate under my fingers anchors. Finally I am standing. Legs wide apart. Feet planted firmly. Taking root in the tiles. Head still hanging. I sway before the cabinets breathing slowly, as another wave of fainting threatens.
Head hanging down I grab the front of the cupboards and will myself up. I walk my way upwards. The rest of the word retreats to the periphery as my focus narrows to the necessities of each movement. The slow release and placement of each hand all that matters. The texture of the laminate under my fingers anchors. Finally I am standing. Legs wide apart. Feet planted firmly. Taking root in the tiles. Head still hanging. I sway before the cabinets breathing slowly, as another wave of fainting threatens.
But
at least I am away from that pesky patch of cordial.
I wipe my cheek and feel my fingers stick. Sometimes all you can do is take a deep breath and stumble to the sink to wash away what you have now convinced yourself could only possibly be cordial. Of course it's cordial. It could only be cordial. That's all. Phew. Dodged a bullet there.
Please don't be bin juice.
Michelle
I wipe my cheek and feel my fingers stick. Sometimes all you can do is take a deep breath and stumble to the sink to wash away what you have now convinced yourself could only possibly be cordial. Of course it's cordial. It could only be cordial. That's all. Phew. Dodged a bullet there.
Please don't be bin juice.
Michelle
NB I had to remove the option for Anonymous comments as I was being overwhelmed with spam despite my best efforts.
Remember to head on over here to donate to my Clicking My Heels For Dysautonomia, raising money for the Greg Page Fund for Orthostatic Intolerance and Dysautonomia research, at The Baker IDI. Thanks to the generosity of many we've already raised over $2,000, keep donating and hopefully we can reach $10,000.
Remember to head on over here to donate to my Clicking My Heels For Dysautonomia, raising money for the Greg Page Fund for Orthostatic Intolerance and Dysautonomia research, at The Baker IDI. Thanks to the generosity of many we've already raised over $2,000, keep donating and hopefully we can reach $10,000.
It's been a long day so I need a bit of a pick me up song.
