Last Tuesday was a beautiful day for a drive. I made it to Opryland in 5 hours, which is great time.
My room was nice, and interestingly laid-out:
The view as I walked in; bathroom on my immediate left.
Around a corner for a full view of the bed (which is a pull-out sofa, but quite comfy.)
The full wall in front of the bed (which you can see in the picture above.)
Then, around that far corner, on one's right if sitting on the bed or in the chair, was The Table. See previous post for that. It will bug me for All Time.
And my room is all I got pictures of, because from Wednesday on, it felt like I was completely out of my body. Everything's pretty much a blur. As I said last time, Wednesday started with the news that my Uncle Tommy had died. By that night, I knew that visitation was Friday and the funeral Sunday. A solid hour-and-45-minute drive from where I was.
You don't pack a funeral-appropriate dress and shoes for a trip to Stitches, so I that had to be taken care of. And Stitches started, and I walked and I walked and I walked, and I bought some stuff. And I couldn't find Miss Babs' booth, though it was on the Vendors Map. Two friends had asked me to buy Miss Babs for them. It just wasn't there.
The class I was supposed to take Saturday morning --- learning how to knit in Continental --- was going to make it impossible to get to the funeral. It was almost as if I only made the trip to drive around. Nothing but being in the car is clear to me.
Making everything worse was that my emergency prescriptions had not been filled on time, so I had to ration my medications for the week. It was terrifying. It was like I wasn't in my body, in my skin. A panic attack was constantly imminent. By yesterday, the physical symptoms had become so bad, I was kind of frightened to make the drive back. I had to keep telling myself, "Pills are at home, pills are at home. . .'