Another early to bed night. Feeling overall better but the thing has settled in my chest so I'm wheezy and really tired. Dozed-off-after-dinner tired and I never do that.
My mother would, of course, be pushing strong hot toddies with Christian Brothers brandy right now and would have made a special trip to get it. Even back when I was a tween. She used to like to get me liquored up. We'll put a pin in it as I'm definitely not up to the task of unpacking all of that tonight but I probably ought to look at that piece of past one of these days.
I prefer a Ventolin inhaler.
[kicks no-generic-albuterol soapbox firmly under sofa.]
The cause of death when she died unexpectedly in 2013 was gastrointestinal bleeding due to or as a result of chronic alcohol abuse. Pin that too.
Gee, whip a little chest tightness on me and I'm leaping down memory lane right back to my asthmatic childhood. Guess that would be the "body memory" I wasn't even sure was a thing.
I know it's my blog and all but I hadn't meant to be such a Debbie Downer as Day freaking 81 is pretty groovy. Nine times nine. Three to the fourth power. An old human. A good number no matter how you look at it....unless there's a culture out there in which 81 has some horrific connotation or implication and I'm gonna get half a dozen comments about my cross-cultural insensitivity...can you tell I'm a little wired from the inhaler?!?
I'm happy to be piling up days. It feels good and right overall even if it isn't always pleasant in the moment. Shit, I should really start thinking what my 90-day treat will be, shouldn't I?
Muscle memory is a very real thing. I am a certified massage therapist and have had people cry like babies when you massage a certain part of their body or the opposite, go stiff like a board and get angry. Sometimes we have no memory of why we feel like it but the body remembers. Maybe day 90 treat could be a massage, release some of those stored up memories.
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