Today I am at home playing the invalid.
Last Tuesday, my back started hurting, which was fair because we were putting a store together (the new REI in Huntsville is quietly open, biding our time until our grand opening November 15), and I was doing a lot of hand lettering in awkward places. But then it kept hurting, which was weird. And then I went on an 8-hour drive to Nest Fest anyways, because I had been planning to go for over a year, damn it (it was great and also kind of a let down, which I need to write about in a second), which did not improve the situation. Note to self: don’t ride in a car for sixteen hours when your body is not happy. But Nest Fest. I don’t know if the lesson to learn is whether to take it easy on your body or to do what it takes to do what you love.
So my back hurts, but in a weird pinch-y way that pulls on the back of my throat and has made my hypochondriac self think, depending on the hour, that I had cancer, tuberculosis, mono, or some weird never-before-seen autoimmune disorder. Y’all. This is my brain. I am pretty sure that I just have some seriously strong stress tension. So, yesterday, I got a massage, and I woke up and everything hurt more but slightly differently, which I am taking as a good sign. This morning I did some light yoga (read: I did an Adriene video modified so that I could lie on the ground for almost all of it) and ate whole-fat yogurt that tastes like sour cream (by disguising it in a smoothie with berries and honey and, of course, chocolate), and now I am lying in bed typing because I have a story to tell and words to say and very little else to do. Cheers.