I always knew taking notes was boring. I just didn't know it had the ability to actually put body parts to sleep.
A couple of weeks ago, our charity had a Board Meeting. (No, not Bored Meeting). The members seem to feel most comfortable in Hubby's archery shop, which is located on our property, so meetings usually occur there after hours. It's great for the Guys, a.k.a. Board Members, as they sit on stools at the counter, usually snacking on whatever someone has brought. Hubby stays seated on his "work stool" behind the counter. It's one of those tall architect stools with a back on it which swivels. This allows him to easily go from working at the counter to swinging around to grab necessary parts off the wall behind him.
For me, however, meetings mean bringing in my laptop, folders filled with agendas and other pertinent information. If you saw me crossing the backyard, you'd wonder what kind of strange safari I was embarking on. Between the laptop briefcase draped over one shoulder, the metal stand which does not fold down, and occasionally snacks for the Board, I look like the world's shortest porter.
At least one of the Guys usually sees my impending arrival and opens the door. Occasionally one of them will unburden me of the laptop stand...unless food is involved and it will miraculously disappear first. I then take my place behind the counter, just behind and to the right of where Hubby's stool sits. That position allowed me to see everyone, plus have access to plug in the laptop for l-o-n-g meetings. It became comical when we realized I was sitting on a wooden stool about two and a half feet high, while everyone else is sitting at bar stool height. I joked that if they looked down on me, I would quit. They smiled. We're all volunteers. And they had access to the door.
Usually things proceed without incident. Until a couple of weeks ago.
I have to confess, right now, that I don't think I'll ever sit like an adult when it comes to chairs. Or stools. I tend to tuck one leg under me in chairs, or wrap my leg around the leg of a stool. It's hard to get comfortable when the ratio of airspace to leg above ground is figured in for short me. Anyway, I didn't realize how long I'd been sitting with leg woven around stool leg until I stood up to hand a page of information to Hubby.
The irony is that, because the shop is so crowded with stuff, I stood up very carefully, so as not to bump into or knock anything over.
Unfortunately, that didn't extend to me.
Rising up, I put all my weight on my left foot, which was the direction I was headed in. Sadly, that foot was asleep. I planted it firmly on top of the leg of my laptop stand and thus began the whitest hip hop dancing ever seen. Sort of like the Hokey Pokey from hell. (Google it, my non-American friends).
I put my left foot down and started dipping to the left.
No problem, my brain countered calmly. Use your right foot.
And I did. I put it down squarely on the foot of the bow press stand and felt my ankle torque.
That's okay, my brain offered jovially, try the left foot again. It's probably awake now.
I put my tingly left foot down and landed on the OTHER bow press stand. My body was now at a very strange angle, leaning further to the left than I knew someone standing up could get.
Your head! Your head! My brain screamed as my right foot tried again. Don't let your head hit this concrete floor or you are toast!
Right foot down...on something that wasn't floor. At this point I didn't have much time before I would meet the concrete floor.
The chair! My brain screeched. Grab the back of Hubby's chair before the floor grabs you.
Chair. Right. In almost slow motion I watched my left hand reach out in hopes of snagging the back of the chair in time. By now the Guys, eyes like saucers as they stared, were calling my name. As if that would stop my fall.
Almost there, I thought, my fingers stretching for the chair as I ignored the Guys. Grab chair. Head no hit floor. Safe.
It is truly amazing how the brain turns real time danger into a slow motion movie. To me, each step took forever as the floor loomed closer. I even remember thinking, "Is this EVER going to end?!" I'm sure to those watching, it was a fast paced jig, complete with fly-like-a-spastic-chicken arm flapping.
Just as my fingertips grazed the chair, Hubby spun around to see what the Guys were talking about.
Bye bye chair. Hello floor, I thought with a sigh, my body tipping even more to the left. Won't be long now and I'll be one with the floor. And brain damaged.
Without a word, just before I passed the point of no return, Hubby's arm shot out and grabbed me around the waist.
Suddenly, I was upright. Blushing furiously, which is quite a feat for someone with all the blood on one side of her head, but embarrassed nonetheless. All was put back into jovial perspective when Hubby looked at me and said with a wry smile, "What are you doing?"
"Taking notes is boring," I replied as everyone laughed in relief. The best part was that Hubby kept his arm around my waist, as if me standing right there to watch him read was a necessity. It's at times like that you're glad you married your best friend. In five minutes, the floor show over, we completed the meeting.
The fact I woke up the next morning feeling as if I'd been drawn and quartered, with particular zeal on the left side of my body, really was enough. Three days later, I couldn't find anyone at work to aid me with putting out chairs for a meeting. Not simple metal folding chairs, but heavily padded CHAIRS which stack. You can see where this is going. The stack was too high for a short woman to handle but I had an event occurring in less than 10 minutes and the room had to be set up. I'm use to doing things myself. And I was almost done when I got to the last stack, a little higher than the rest. I grabbed the top chair, which was at an awkward angle. It stuck. So I pulled. With enthusiasm.
Which is how I pinched a nerve in my shoulder which has kept me from sleeping well, typing or doing any type of hip hop dance which might require me to go left.
In time, it'll heal. Right now I'm slow, slightly grumpy and have the occasional lightning bolt shoot from my left shoulder down my arm and out my left pinkie, all pins and needles in a hit-my-funny-bone-and-it's-not-funny move. I've also developed an allergy to certain chairs at work, which are now moved by someone else.
At least I own a brand new heating pad. And I know I have a Hubby who has my back. Literally.