I can't believe I didn't die

Short version:

Son of woman buying the car from the estate of the house I was helping clear runs car in _closed_ garage for 30 minutes to see if it works. (I should note the son is a mechanic!). No one notices. For the next hour I complain of feeling queasy and keep laying down to see if I'll feel better. Fellow who is the executor finally says, "god this is so wiping me out," and all of a sudden I say, "we have to get out of the house, NOW!"

I wind up standing outside in 18 degree weather for an hour making calls to find out what was going on and eventually it's solved; we open all teh windows and the garage and a couple hours later the house is safe.

When I had proper air back in my body again it became shockingly clear to me that the whole thing was much much worse than it seemed as it was happening. We're talking internal organs hurting the whole deal. That the executor could have laid down on a couch too and we both could have passed out and fucking DIED seems all too plausible.

I'm actually pretty rattled.

I was, for the record, encouraged to blog about this particular horror by the client in question.

(no subject)

Other than either looking or feeling slightly grey from my ordeal, I am fine and am now off to work. Fifteen hour work days may not be good for the soul, but they are good for the Weird Pursuits Fund.

I love my city for having both Norwegian Folk dancing classes and Classical fencing. But I do not love my city for making me choose between the two. (Perhaps I will run to the last hour or so of the Norwegian folk dancing after the fencing). Yes, among other things, I'd sell my soul for creepy fiddle music any day of the week.

still have to write two articles and I should go to two SAG awards screenings tomorrow and decide if I even want to be bothered with the Freedom writers screening on Monday or Tuesday. One thing at a time I suppose.

And before yesterday went to chaotic hell, I was good and did practice. Outside on uneven ground and it was so cool to really get why the footwork works.

(no subject)

Okay, so I'm having a bit of a time catching my breath today. I assume like any injury this will go away in a couple of days.

I am struck by the thought that if my celiac had not been reocgnized and attended to, and had I not been fencing for the last three months, I would have chalked up my queasiness and fatigue yesterday to my general state of being, and despite having good instincts, really might not have figured it out. I'm clear-headed these days in a way I never used to be, and I might have shrugged off feeling like crap six months ago.

I will stop talking about this soon. I suppose it's a testament to me doing something right that I'm not having any "near death experience! must change how I live my life!" crap.

Yay for anticlimatic events, one supposes.