Today was a wretched day, all the more so since it was my last day with B.

We ventured out to a new church, Grace Menonite. I was looking forward to visiting the local church that was just a block or two down the road. However, the moment I stepped foot into the sanctuary, I knew I need to leave. I knew it, and yet I was afraid to speak up.

I should be able to say anything to B, but I really was worried how she and G would react. I mean, after all I could have just borrowed the keys on walked back to their home. Easy, right? That would have been the correct and wise course of action. However, I was trapped by my fear that B would think I was "whining" about the heat.

While I am always more than willing to contribute electricty funds, I feel as if I have to "remind" (what feels like begging) people that I need the air down. Often, someone will change it one or two degrees, when really I need a bigger change. It is at times like these, that I feel as it if is best that I stay home and avoid visits all together. I feel this way because I truly dislike feeling like I am begging for something that I need, not for comfort, but for health.

So, I kept my mouth shut and determined to just grin and bear it.

Well, the grin did not last long. I found myself sitting in the pew thinking far more of the time ticking away on my watch than the service. After about 45 minutes of suffering, I rather belatedly realized that the service would be an hour and a half instead of an hour. I began to panic. I should have left then.

I didn't.

By the time the service was over, I was hanging on by a thread. A thin one. I walked to the foyer and sat down on the steps to wait for G and B to fetch the children. I am not altogether certain how long that took. G took the children to fetch the car. B then followed because he could not drive back with the children. So, there I was, lying on the concrete hoping to make it back to B's house. I am thankful I did.

I am not sure just how low B dialed down the thermostat, but after being helped to the couch that is just inside their front door, I gratefully collapsed and fell asleep. After sleeping for a couple of hours, I thought I might survive the rest of the day.

I almost did.

After making a passal of foolish questions, I made another by not asking B to bring me my clothes when I felt well enough to change out of my Sunday finery. Instead, I tried to climb not one, but two sets of stairs to my attic room. I am not exaggerating when I write that I literally crashed to the floor.

That fall was the third one in just 8 days. It was, by far, the most terrifying one I have had yet on a set of stairs.

I hit my head twice, along with most every part of my body as I turned the corner and tumbled out onto the hall floor. B raced up to see if I was still alive and sat with me for a moment whilst I took stock of my state of health. I realized nothing was broken, but I also knew that my brain felt like it had rattled around in my skull a bit.

B and G started trying to figure out how to get me home between train schedules and driving and all, but I just took myself on home. I was dizzy and sick to my stomach the whole way, leaving parts of my meals in Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia...and crying quite a bit.

I went on home because I have this exhibit tomorrow at a rather important networking function. I just know that were I absent it would not be a good thing. However, I feel like death warmed over...to coin an over used phrase...