The View from Flat on My Back

I love my bed. My bed is about the most comfortable spot there is. My bed has blue-and-white fairly traded organic-cotton sheets from India, an ecru-colored down comforter, and a pile of blue and tan silk pillows that I found at a yard sale a few years ago for a dollar each. It's made of that Swedish foam (the real brand-name kind), which, I have no idea how that is for the planet, but it sure has saved my back. I promise to recycle it in 15 years when it wears out. They should have a way to recycle polyurethane foam by then, surely. My bed is low, only about 18 inches off the ground, which, I don't know, I feel like I'm resting more soundly when I'm nearer to the earth. If the floor were made of Swedish foam, I'd sleep on the floor.

I'm in my bed right now. I have a chest cold, and here I lie, wheezing and shivering, as bundled as I can bear to be, making my fever burn as hot as it can to make me get better faster. I'm nursing a huge, handmade mug (looks like cobalt, zinc, and iron in the glaze) of Traditional Medicinals Throat Coat and Herba Tussin, my favorite get-better herbal infusion blends. It's almost time for another 2 grams of vitamin C. (Here's a tip: when you're sick, take 1–2 grams of vitamin C per hour, for all waking hours. Yeah, you read me correctly: per hour. You've heard that taking extra vitamin C doesn't actually help you get better, right? Well, that's because your body flushes it out in about an hour, and it only boosts your immunity while it's in your body. It really does help if you keep up with it. And it can't hurt you, other than some GI-tract upset that goes away as soon as you back off the dosage.)

I've opened the shades and drapes in the room, so sunlight is gushing in. My cat is sleeping next to me. Kevin is spending the day in the library (the second floor of our house) so I can have some peace and solitude. I rest better with peace and solitude. I've canceled everything I do on Thursdays (which took a half-hour of emailing and phone-calling this morning!). I have to skip my yoga class tonight. Major bummer. But I'm ignoring my reflex to ignore my body's needs. Two weeks ago, Tamie said that our deepest, most real desires (like resting in peace and solitude) don't always align with our conscious desires (like not missing a class that I love) and that goodness comes when we bow to our deepest desires, at times letting them override our conscious desires. And so—here I lie. I'm still breathing though. Today I will rest and breathe.

My mom has been giving me the silent treatment for the past two weeks, with one rather upsetting but entirely unsurprising confrontation on Saturday morning. She was feeling guilty about some things, and so she had to call me to remind me that it was all my fault, and I only ever got what I deserved from her, and why can't I just be a perfect, compliant, Roman Catholic daughter so she wouldn't be forced to punish me for my filthy fornication in my Protestant pretend-marriage and pay for all the relics that she sends in the mail and monks who pray rosaries to get me to love Mary more and quit having sex? And also, when am I going to stop killing her grandchildren with condoms (which I do not use, let the record show) and come home to take care of her and get my sister to be a better daughter and quit running around with all her boyfriends (of which she does not have a plurality, let the record also show) and be a good Catholic too? When am I going to stop inflicting every problem in my mother's life on her so everything will be wonderful? Why am I so mean and selfish and rotten and bad?

Have you ever seen Carrie?

But nevermind. Right now, life is good. There are sunlight and purring and tea and love coming to me from friends near and far, and all from God. I'm beginning to believe in my core that all good really does come from him, and I can take it all in without fear. So many gifts, so much grace, and I feel myself opening to it. That's all I have to report.