Wishes for two amazing girls

It blows my mind that I have two important birthdays to announce at the same time:

First to my beloved belgatherial, my spice, my Bright Girl. I am so grateful for your presence in my life. I wish you joy and strength and grace in the coming year, and hope you can find your way back into figmentj's and my arms before your next birthday arrives. *love*

And second to my darling Abbey, who has just turned sixteen, ye gods. Happy birthday, dearest daughter. May love and happiness find you and keep you, and may the gods shower you with all that you need, whether you know it or not. I love you, and am more proud of you than you realize. *hugs*

I never want to be able to use this icon again

This past weekend was supposed to be the final push to get the last of the detritus hauled out of the old cabin. I managed one carload before gravity had other plans for me: carrying a full clothes bin down the stairs, my foot missed its mark by just enough, my legs swung out from under me, and I landed tailbone-first squarely on the edge of an unfriendly stair. This is bad enough on its own, even before I mention that I did exactly the same thing only a few weeks earlier and still hadn't recovered.

It was kind of interesting, actually. My initial thoughts (after a sulky "Oh, crap, here goes this again...." on the way down) were, "Yikes, that sort of thing is rather uncomfortable." They weren't any more alarmed than that, until I realized that there was someone screaming blue Saxon murder and cussing emphatically very close to my head, and that I was there alone. "Egad," I thought, "I do seem to be carrying on! Perhaps this is hurting more than I initially believed! Hm, why, yes, I am in a great deal of pain! That would explain the staggering around the living room and punching the walls thing as well!" I took a moment to realize that no one was anywhere near earshot of the screaming, and thus no one would find my dead body for a long while if it had been my head, then made my way to the door. Right, ER it was, then.

There were challenges inherent in this, mostly related to sitting. Getting to my car was a minor challenge, but actually getting in and driving was a major one, seeing as how butt meeting driver's seat was enough to set off klaxons in my head and cue the yelping. Somehow I made it the 3/4 mile home and texted figmentj, with whom I only did two rounds of "no, no, I don't need any help" before accepting her offer to bail work and be my ambulance driver. I did the whole trip to the hospital riding on my left hip and crying at the potholes. The ER visit itself was predictable: hurry up and wait, layered with open-backed gown-related indignity. The prognosis: a broken coccyx, which you can't do much with except ice and (all praise to the medical community) VICODIN, which is God's love in tablet form.

It's still tender, and things like bending over or standing from a seated position still hurt like a mofo, but I do seem to be healing a little at a time. Our former landlady was good enough to give us another extension on the move, the folks at work have been sympathetic, figmentj has been a tremendous help, and prescription-strength ibuprofen has become a dear comrade / drinking buddy. And then there's the Vicodin—I last took it more than 24 hours ago, but it's still keeping me in a semi-catatonic state, which luckily doesn't affect my data entry duties in the slightest. Sleepy-time for Mr. Broken-Heinie!