Late Wednesday (past midnight), Larry and I headed to the ER. Worsening pain in my left arm and neck, spreading to my chest, coupled with my chronic hypochondria made for a fun date night (morning?). The pain was determined (after 4 hours) to be not of a cardiac nature (But it felt like it! Really!). And (silver lining!) Larry and I got to spend some quiet time together without any kids interrupting us. Unfortunately, it's hard to have a quality conversation at 3 in the morning; but after 18 years, what's left to say, anyway?
So! Went home at 4:30 AM, slept quickly, and got up to go to a follow-up appointment that my ER doctor thoughtfully scheduled for me at 9. Assuming a long wait, I decided to take my knitting book with me, so that I could finish the hat I'm working on.
Hmmm...let's see...oh, yes, I last saw the book on the floor by my chair in the den...must have slipped under the chair...I'll just pull the chair out and...
You know, it's odd how, even though I've never actually seen an accurate picture of a sleeping bat, I was able to identify the real thing in under 1.4 seconds. I can't give any credit to my advanced cognitive processes for that. The identification (and subsequent reaction) came directly from the primitive, archipallium part of my brain. The part concerned with self-preservation...
By the way, Theo thought it was cool.
This unfortunate discovery took place in the sunniest, cleanest, most pleasant part of my home - an open nook off the living room that has my (formerly beloved) flowered Ektorp armchair, my handy knitting basket, the computer desk, and an attractive gas fireplace. It is my refuge: when the rest of the house is trashed, I retreat there and pretend that my whole life is clean, ordered, and knitting-ready. I blog there, I Facebook there, I read to the little girls there.
And now...I find bats there. I am bereft. There is no place left to go.