Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

Happy freeking Monday.

As you two might already know, I have a couple of Monday issues happening here.

First, I’m supposed to be having an “off” day.  Obviously most of my days are “off”  so I expect you’re both wondering what’s so unusual about that.  Cynics, both of you, I’m supposed to be taking the day off from working out.  So of course I slept wonderfully and didn’t get up until 7am, waking refreshed and enthused about maybe swimming (right, OK, not really enthused, but you know…sorta not hating the idea.  That’s a lot like being enthused.)

I have to admit I no longer look at swimming like it was my second pregnancy and this time I knew what natural childbirth felt like and knew I was going to have to go through it all again anyway.  See?  That’s positive, right?

I remember being pregnant with the twins, sitting in a chair, unable to see my toes.  Hubs asked me about the Lamaze classes, wondering how learning a breathing technique was helpful.  “Does it make it hurt less, then?” he asked.

In the most polite way possible I told him to go shut his buddy in the door over there and work on breathing slowly and deeply, which would be helpful in demonstrating to him both the feeling of labor and the benefit of proper breathing.  He politely declined and indicated he was happy to take me at my word.

So today I’m not going swimming or running or biking (but I am going to sneak in some yard work SHHHH be vewy vewy quiet.)

vewy vewy quiet

Since I’m full of energy and it’s a pretty day and also I put it off for the past three days I decided to go to Kroger’s and buy food.  Secondly, I decided to actually make dinner tonight.  Fasten the seatbelts, it’s going to be a rough ride.  I even looked up a recipe.  Then I decided we don’t need no stinking recipe and I’m going to make up my own plan.  Baked pork chops, rice and veggies.  I’ll let you know if hubs survives.  There’s really no other option because I forgot to buy the Lean Cuisines and I’m not going back to the store.  I figure more than once a week in Kroger is probably a leading cause of brain leakage, and I have reason for that belief.

Part of the problem is the Muzak.  Usually I can handle a little bit of the orchestral remakes of Back in Black or Somebody to Love because once those get stuck in my head, as they will undoubtedly and without fail do, I don’t feel like I need to thread dental floss through my ears and clean out my head.

Oddly, I kept feeling I should not go to Kroger this morning.  Not that I didn’t want to, I was actually feeling rather enthused about buying food and cooking it, as opposed to buying it and letting it rot.  And I kept thinking of other things to take care of instead of going to the store, but I didn’t want to go this afternoon because I want to get outside in the sunshine and rake up 10 millionbajillion leaves from the 87 trees on our lawn.

OK.  FINE.  It’s not really 87 trees. I don’t want to count them though, because then for the rest of my life at some point every freeking day my brain would randomly announce WE HAVE 23 TREES ON OUR LAWN and when I’m in the home and don’t recognize my own toes my brain would still randomly announce out loud to the nurse WE HAVE 23 TREES ON OUR LAWN.  The nurses will all call me Tree Lady and they’ll all know which resident they’re talking about.  Sometimes they’ll just shorten it to “23 needs a bed pan” and they’ll all know then, too.

Anyway, I didn’t listen to my own inner psychic and I went to Kroger.  Probably, too, if I weren’t so damn well hydrated it would still have worked out OK.  But, no, I’ve had like 40 ounces of water already this morning plus three coffees, so of course I had to go to the Ladies’ Room – this is the polite term for bathroom in public places – which when you think about it, they can’t call it a bathroom because it has no bath.  If it did have a bath I would totally not go in there because I have no clue what I might see at that point, but – without meaning to point fingers – if that woman in front of me in the checkout was naked in a bath and I saw that at Kroger’s I would probably go blind or end up in the home tomorrow telling everyone about the freeking damn trees and drooling.

This is precisely why I will never make it as a nurse.  I’ll never play piano either, but if I did, I can tell you one song I would NEVER-NEVER-EVER play: Please Mr., Please which, unfortunately, came on overhead just as I was checking out.

AND THIS IS THE SECOND TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED AT THAT STORE!!  Let me repeat that as I’m sure you are both completely stunned and cannot believe what you just read:  THIS IS THE SECOND TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED AT THAT STORE!

How can the odds possibly work out that I would hear that damn song twice in the same store?  How random is that, anyway?  Shouldn’t I have fallen into a black hole first, or hit a hole-in-one at the Masters even though I don’t golf?  Wouldn’t those chances be better than hearing that song twice in the same place???  AND it happened in the check out line.  If I’d just not gone to the Ladies’ Room.  Dammit.

But, no.  Here I sit, two hours later, and that song is running through my head like a warm murky stream on a grossly hot day.  I even youtubed AC/DC and played it real loud to try getting it out that way, but they can’t seem to kick Olivia out.  Probably by Wednesday or Thursday it should be gone.

Secondly, “at my age” which the doctors seem get some perverse joy out of saying, I think there should be some perks.  One of the perks I think I should be able to enjoy is not have a pimple grow in the middle of my nose.

I’m concerned that hearing Olivia warble about B17 has flashed me back to my teen years and my pores felt obliged to make me feel right at home.  Soon I shall don my jeans that are far too short because my legs are too long and they don’t sell jeans by the inseam yet and get some broccoli stuck in my braces so when I laugh out loud during Monday afternoon Spanish class the popular kids will laugh too.

What do you mean, they weren’t laughing with me?

Dammit.  I HATE Mondays.

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