My eternal enemy

If you know me, you know I like things clean. Especially the bathroom. Especially my toilet, which tends to get this ring of black flecks around it when it has gone unused for a few days. The black flecks appear to be something from the pipes. Every few days I get the Clorox toilet cleaner out and my favorite blue brush and give it a good scrub.

After 6 days in Utah, the toilet was calling out to me. "Clean me. Please clean me."

And so, the day before Ry returned from his vacation, I decided to devote 12 hours to cleaning the whole apartment. Laundry, mopping, rearranging furniture. My plans, however, changed 2 hours in to the day of fun.

As I crouched over the toilet, the water a beautiful blue and smelling of bleach, I scrubbed with all of my might. And then, suddenly ....

I was paralyzed.

No, not with fear because of the filth. Literally, I could no longer move.

I fell to the floor, with recollections of a Sex & The City episode in which Miranda throws her back out after showering and lies on the rug naked. Because, I obviously clean the house in only my unders.

My Sunday was no longer the joyous day of cleaning. But instead, an internal homage to all of the things I would no longer be able to do -- like walk, clean, dance in the car, go to the bathroom on my own, turn my head, scratch my back, or pick up my nephew. So many thoughts passed through my head as I lay on the bathroom floor in misery.

Of course, it was my obsessive cleaning (and not my risky lifestyle) that would be my demise.

Fortunately, after hours of crawling through the house and a bottle of Ibuprofen, I did manage to walk again.

It's only a pulled muscle. Perhaps the gluteus profundus or the tensor fasciae latae.

And so while I am sore, slow-moving, and pathetic, I am not crippled.

I shall live to clean again!