I think I can officially call this a bad day. Any day which you have mostly slept through, having nightmares the entire time, but yet still managed to fall off of the toilet has to qualify as BAD.

Last night, it was supposed to get pretty cold, so I brought the sleeping bag in from off of the clothesline where it had been airing out for a couple of days. The Hub said it smelled kind of musty, but I didn't notice it. He slept up in the spare room and somehow, my four foot health meter got shut out of the bedroom.

When I woke up this morning, I had asthma so bad it was like trying to suck air in through a cocktail straw. I opened my eyes, took a breath, and had only one thought "I'm screwed." Not only could I not breathe, my left leg seemed to be missing in action. I mean it was still there - I could feel a warm bump against my right leg, but it was numb from my hip to my toes.

This has happened before, and to be frank, I was glad. When I got feeling back, I knew it was gonna hurt like hell, so numb was okay. But really, it's not numb like when it's asleep. It's hard to describe how something can be numb and hurt at the same time, but, the point is, I knew it was going to hurt worse later, I knew I was going to have to find my cane, and I knew this day was going to, pardon me for saying so, suck a great hairy root.

Ever the optomist about my health, The Hub eventually clattered in, saw me lying perfectly still and said, "Oh, great, Li'l Bird! You're finally getting some sleep. I'll just let you rest. You know that sleeping bag smells really bad." Then he let the dog out, so all hope was gone. I lay there thinking, I really do have to a red handkerchief or something I can just whip out so he knows that I'm not just lying there peacefully, I'm lying there with my lungs so stuck together that I can't even wheeze. Then I fell back into a fitful sleep dreaming that my inhaler was just out of my reach, which, of course, in real life, it was.

After awhile, it dawned on The Hub that it was getting late and I wasn't even moving around. "Inaler!" I squawked as he came back in. Poor man. He found my inhaler and helped me sit up in bed in rapid sequence, helped me change out of my nightgown which was soaked with sweat, then let my father, who was at the door, in for a minute. Dad had come down to see if I had gotten a job yet, if I had heard from the senior housing people. Not a word. Sigh.

The feeling started to come back in my leg. Great. It wasn't a good feeling. The Hub brought me a bagel, some tea and my regular medicines. He brought in the paper and sat with me until he could tell that my inhaler was starting to work, that I could look about myself like a responsible person. "I'll take that sleeping bag down to the launderama and wash it again." I said, with every intention of doing that.....

Satisfied that I was okay, he brought me another cup of tea and went on to his carpentry job. He hadn't been out the door for five minutes before the mug became too heavy for me to hold. I lay it on the night table and fell back to sleep again. It was a really bad sign that, even after taking my inhaler I was still exhausted.

Nightmares, nightmares. I was back at the job-in-a-box, getting publicly bawled out about some numeric sequence. I was in jail. I was underwater. I couldn't swim. I can't swim in real life either. Somewhere a phone was ringing. I opened my eyes and it was bright, it was afternoon, but there was no way I was going to make it to the phone.

Finally, I heard the antique ansonia clock in the living room striking 3:00. Usually when I hear that it's 3:00 a.m. but hearing it at 3:00 p.m caused me to give the same groan. My leg felt like it was on fire. My cane was out in the car.

I staggered into the bathroom and sat down, contemplating getting a shower, but my leg was so unreliable that when I tried to get back up from the toilet I just fell over conking my head on the door. Ouch. Okay, no shower. Fabulous. Now, on top of everything else, I was going to spend the day smelling like a yak.

I hauled myself up to my feet using the sink ( in a practiced manuver. Like I say, all of this is stuff that goes on, from time to time, due to my spine being all twisted up near the bottom) and went back to the bedroom. I was starving. I got my tea out of the bedroom and stuck it in the microwave. I went upstairs, wrote a blog entry, and my computer erased it. Okay, it's that kind of day.

Back downstairs, got the tea, trash can full again. I decided to take the trash out. How hard could that be? Well, don't ask. Anybody remember "The Gilgamesh"? All those lines of ancient Sumarian poetry where Gilgamesh wrestles with Enkidu? Well, it was like that getting the trash out. I got to the phone, called my messages. A company wants me to get in touch with them about a job as a bill collector. I took a deep breath, or what passed for one this afternoon, then called the number. I left a message on somebody's voice mail sounding like I was applying for a job at a 900 number. Marilyn Monroe voice. Creepy.

Finally, I decided that I was too tired to stay up. I crawled back into bed and read a bad historical novel and the Bible until The Hub got home again to find me right where he left me. " I didn't get much accomplished" I told him.

At least now I can take a shower. But some days you just have to write off as a loss, and this was one of them.

This has been an official bad day news report!!