[Breaking Point.]

I write you from an extraordinarily pathetic state.

It seems I've aged approximately 81 years in the last hour of my existence.

I now find myself a bit... bed-ridden?

And, therefore, excruciatingly aware of my, ahh, newfound independence.

You want the story?

Lean in.

I'll not do more than whisper this one...

For my ego's sake.

I'm thinking my predicament tonight is due to the latter of these mistakes, but probably wouldn't have had the same impact without them all.

So I'll start at the beginning.

Since December, I've been sleeping on a Air Bed.

(Unfortunate lifestyle reality.)

Then the ol' back endured quite a jolt taking a tumble during rolly-chair races in Brookings a few weeks back.

(Embarrassing life choice.)

After a double-digit number of days, it's been doing pretty well over the past few.

Then I helped push a car across Minnesota Avenue.

(Worthwhile investment of panting and hilarity.)

Then moving week occurred...er...is occurring now.

That means a lot of lifting and a lack of seating.

(Poor timing.)

And in my obnoxiously high level of boredom and anxiety this week, I chose to distract myself tonight by being crafty.

I finger-painted my bean bag toss over a sheet on the floor of my apartment.

(I can only say "All of the Above" to explain my feelings on explaining this one.)

Must have been leaning over to reach as oddly as humanly possible, but didn't notice because I was so engrossed in the sensory stimulation of such a project AND my need to be ever-vigilant in order to avoid the upturned screws and threatening wooden shards yearning to lodge themselves inside the skins of every finger on my two hands.

When it was all over, I went to stand up. Couldn't.

Crawled over to bed and here I stay.

My grabber (which I had to invest in post-rolly chair collision) is packed away in a suitcase.

My Tylenol is packed in the bag in the storage closet.

My closest friends are out of town.

My mom's backrub is a 3.5 hour car drive away.

And that boyfriend who's supposed to come running to my aid has been broken up with.

So what do I do?

Slur an obscene string of curse words...

Mutter something about my apparent need for a life alert button...

Whine and whimper a bit, as though I was about to throw the equivalent of a two-year-old's tantrum...

Make an attempt at moving things with my mind...

and then cry.

Just... sob...!

That-- right there-- is the true low point here.

Because the truth behind that sob lies simply my frustration in having those I have grown to depend on at such an alarming distance.

And, at a time when all I am doing is packing up my life to move onto one distant endeavor after another, that reality hits awfully hard.

So, although I will certainly admit this has been quite the pity party, I am left wondering if there's not more to it than that.

I have been carrying a lot over these past few weeks, emotionally speaking.

Maybe it'll just take a night of immobility to force me to work through some of those issues.

Maybe I just need to sleep on it.

...If I need more than that (like someone to get me a bed pan and then change it for me) I'll be sure to let you-- yes, you--know.