Laid-up

On Sunday evening, after a long-desired weekend filled with nothing but reading, cooking and the Sunday NY Times crossword puzzle, I garner the umpf to fulfill my one self-imposed responsibility for the weekend: write a check made out to "United States Treasury."

In a moment, as I wander into my office to do the deed, a horizontal ripple surfs through my lower back. No nagging warning ache. No low-level preceding throb. Just SNAP and I'm hunched over, steadying myself with dressers and chairs to get myself prone. I've been through this drill before. I know that my feet have to be lifted onto the bed before I recline. I ease onto my side, then roll onto my back while clutching the side of the bed. Pillow-positioning is next. I lay still, with pillows angled like a house roof just under my shoulders to keep my head from lolling to either side. Ten minutes after the SNAP I'm immovably flat. There I quiet my body and ask my mind to soar to the place where time and space and body have no control. I call it, "placing myself in the realm of LOVE." I am not afraid. I simply wait, and hope the inevitable trip to the bathroom comes mercifully later.

Monday morning I don't go to work. Something I typically relish. But the rebel that lives in me despises a body-mandated day off. Tuesday I stay home again and by 7pm I discover I can now get netflix on demand on my macbook. (We don't have a television and this extended homestay is the first time I miss it.) I watch Humbolt County and ponder the more complicated time of my youth ... experiencing the pot-growing scene through the eyes of the little girl. I yearn for the simplicity of life off-the-grid --the life I spurned as a little girl-- and realize I'm inching closer.

I get ready to return to work in the morning and before settling in bed I hobble to my office, pull out my checkbook, and fill in: "United States Treasury." Two days off-schedule, but back on-the-grid.