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Just a few hours ago I was lying back, my feet propped up on pillows, enjoying a nice hot cup of sugary tea.

I didn't see it coming till it was too late. I know I've been feeling really stressed, what with the move and whatnot, and I thought I was handling it alright. I'm usually so much better at this change management thing.

After dinner last night, I was staring up at the ceiling, thinking about original crown molding and high ceilings and I must have looked melancholy becasue Larry said, "You know, we always knew we wouldn't be here forever ... "

"Just stop," I interrupted him, probably more snappish than I meant to be. "I know all that, I've been telling it to myself for weeks. I'm just feeling sad. It feels like an ending and I'm not good with endings. It will pass. I promise."

He didn't really know what to do with that, so he went to bed. It always amazes me when people can totally compartmentalize and then go right to sleep. That's a habit I need to learn in my next life.

So, naturally, I couldn't sleep at all. Fresh out of Ambien, I sat up in the living room (last night of having it all there and all), did my annual reading of "A Small Good Thing", had a bit of a cathartic cry, and put on a meditation tape. I tossed and turned on the sofa, listening to birds chirp and sleepers snore.

The packers came this morning and despite their South African accents and beefy builds, I'm not in the mood to watch them box up my life. So I decided to make use of my free mornign and waltz over to the surgery for my routine bloodwork, and maybe ask for a Xanax or twelve to get me through the week.

I didn't eat anything because of the cholesterol test. I had drunk a few cups of coffee.

I know better than this.

I've been having blood taken regularly since I was eleven years old, when I was mis-diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. It's usually no big deal, I just can't look at the needle going in or the blood coming out.

About the time the nurse, a wee African man about half my size, plopped on third vaccuum tube, I started feeling a little light headed, and started taking very slow, long, deep breaths.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Just feeling a little woozy, it'll pass."

Another vaccuum tube goes on and the room starts getting fuzzy.

"Sorry, I think I'm going to feint."

I remember him opening the door and asking for help. I remember the sweetest blonde woman coming in and holding my other side. I remember asking if I could lie down and if they could take the needle out.

And then I think I went back to Scotland. I was talking to some of my Arvon friends for a bit and and then I remember waking up.

"And I'm back," I whispered. "Did I say anything stupid?"

She promised me I didn't, but would be happy to make something up if I wanted. I'm told I was only gone for a couple of seconds.

They moved me to a cot, gave me oxygen, hooked up a blood pressure and pulse machine to my arm and finger, took a blood sugar test, and ask if I wanted a cup of tea.

"How do you feel?" the nurse asked me, after assuring his boss that my vitals were fine.

"Totally embarrassed."

They assured me it was nothing to worry about.

So that was a couple hours ago. I've since had lunch and could really use a nap, but there's English to be taught.

I still feel a bit squiffy. And even more so, I feel like a right twat.