Wrong is Right

Sometimes I become so focused on what's going wrong, that I'm failing to see all of the wonderful things right in front of me that are going exactly right. This happens more often then I like to admit. Friday I was off work since Evan was leaving. We didn't have big plans, but we wanted to do something fun before he left. I woke up that morning from the lack of oxygen to my brain. My head felt like I had sunk a mile underwater, as I helplessly bobbed along through the fog. I could only manage a caveman-like gasp of air through my mouth, which usually resulted in a equally disgusting man cough. I was so upset. Here Evan and I were trying to spend some quality time together before he left, and I just had to get sick this one weekend. I whined, I huffed, I stomped my feet demanding my body to heal itself at warp speed. It didn't help, I only felt more miserable as the weekend passed. 

Last night I was at the end of my rope. I looked wearily at the clock, realizing it was already past my usual bedtime. Methodically I locked the door and turned to the lamp. I noticed a small baggie of sea salt leaning on the base of the lamp, that I had acquired by a sales spa lady at school as a free sample. I had taken it more out of apathy than enthusiasm. I plucked it with my left hand as my right clicked the light  off, swallowing the room into a quiet blanket of darkness. 

I filled up the tub with hot water and thoughtlessly dumped the contents of the bag without looking. My clothes were flung into a pile on the floor. The water was a slightly too warm, which made my skin tingle on the edge of burning. Normally I would vacate water this hot, but felt too irritated to haul myself out. I held the bridge of my nose with my thumb and pointer finger, as the steam from the hot water flushed my cheeks red. My face was tense and drawn together in my hands. I started messaging my swollen nose, then moved slowly along the top of my cheek bones. My fingers moved in small rhythmic circles up my temples, across my forehead, back down my nose, and then tumbled off the tip to trace around the perimeter my lips.  

Next, I stretched my legs and felt the tautness of my stringent muscles. It felt nice to lean back into the pressure, releasing all my uncertainty, like wringing water from a towel. I stood up in the tub, touched my toes, and gradually stood up straight. I took a deep breath. I took another deep breath. I believe I invented some kind of bathtub yoga, but it worked. After all my muscles had been stretched and messaged I felt a lot better. Even my cold didn't seem as bad. As the water gargled down the drain, I wrapped myself in my pale pink robe. I climb into my bed (which was a little too empty I might add) and fell asleep in about thirty seconds.   

I guess the good Lord knew I would need to relax, especially after Evan leaving. Seeing as He knows me way better than I know myself, this might have just been the way to do it. If I hadn't been sick I would have never taken a bath. If I didn't take a bath, I would have never taken the time to be still, have a mini spa, and invent bathtub yoga. Maybe I would have been running around like a mad woman trying to fill my time, so I wouldn't be thinking about how far away Evan gets each day from me. Before Evan left we spent most of our last moments together just hanging out. Since I was sick we didn't eat fancy dinners or run downtown, we just snuggled up on the couch and soaked up every moment together. So maybe my cold wasn't such a bad thing after all.