My shoulder hurt a lot this morning when I woke up. I think I mentioned that in a previous entry.
So… I took a Lortab and a Soma at 8:30am, and then walked to Church ahead of the rest of the family. Understand, this is in Orem, Utah, where pretty much any Latter-Day Saint lives within a short walk of their congregation’s meetinghouse. I’m no exception. I have to cross two residential streets, and I walk past 9 front yards (counting only those on my right side as I walk).
So… I walked to church, sat down in a promising looking pew, and waited for the medication to kick in.
When Sandra arrived 10 minutes later I was about to fall over sideways. We agreed that it might be best if I sat in the foyer on a comfy chair (typically used by nursing mothers and delinquent teenagers), stuck around long enough to take the acrament (Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, or Communion depending on your particular vernacular), and then walked home. Well, the Sacrament was passed to me, and I spent a few precious wetware cycles contemplating my relationship with God. Then I contemplated walking home, and realized that walking ANYWHERE in my current stuporous state was likely a bad idea, so I stayed put.
I fell asleep.
I woke up when the closing hymn was sung. I sat dazedly in place wondering if Sandra would come and get me, and then realized that she probably thought I was at home. I decided to venture forth from the increasingly womb-like comfort of that chair (note the subject line — “stoned in church”) and walked very slowly until I located Sandra. We talked about it, and determined that the easiest thing to do would rhyme nicely with “stay at Church.”
(Note: Latter-Day Saint sunday services are referred to a “the block,” because they are a three-hour block of meetings. The Sacrament meeting is the principal congregational worship service. On our schedule it is followed by Sunday school, which is 50 minutes or so of directed discussion on a particular topic or topics from the scriptures. For adults, that is followed in turn by a meeting of the Relief Society [the women’s auxiliary] or Priesthood [the men’s meeting]. More to the point, I’d just finished sleeping through rough 75 minutes of a three-hour block, and Sandra’s suggestion was that it would be easier and safer to just stick around for the remaining 105 minutes.)
So Sandra and I went to Sunday School, and apparently the class was quite entertained by a couple of rambling discourses I launched into. I teach this class once a month, so it’s not like they haven’t heard from me before. Usually when they hear from me I’m not taking anything stronger than ibuprofen, and I can create complete sentences. Sandra assures me that I did not exhibit any Tourettes-ish symptoms, and probably offended exactly nobody. I don’t remember enough of it to be sure, though.
From there I staggered unescorted to Priesthood Meeting, and I did my best to keep quiet. Which is to say, I participated in the discussion with more rambling than an intoxicated baseball commentator. I’ll need to check back next week to see what I said, assuming they’ll still let me in the building.
These days my block of meetings is followed by about an hour of clerical work. Thus it was that following Priesthood meeting I headed to the office and sat down at the computer to begin entering the week’s donations with one of the counselors from the Bishopric. It became obvious to both of us (although to him first) that I was unfit to, umm… “operate heavy machinery.” He grabbed another member of the bishopric to get the job done, and sent me home. I followed the sound of jingling car-keys in the foyer, and quickly located someone who happened to be “going my way.” I arrived safely at home without having to brave the perils of residential Sunday traffic on foot.