It’s 4:42 am and I’m sitting here doing some crazy mad leg jiggling.
Excited. Nervous, doubting, hopeful. Weather.com is reporting in a delightful 57 degrees, I’m sipping some coffee so I’ll have even more nervous energy to leg jiggle with.
When I was younger, less cynical and questioned less I was a daily Mass goer. That is when I learned about my leg jiggling, sitting there in the back of the chapel with a couple besties, quiet, eyes closed, centering. SLAM Kay’s hand would come down on my knee, clenching my leg.
It is not – not – polite to snort in church, but dammit, every time I’d snort a laugh. I was doing it again. She would cut her eyes over at me. It was extremely dangerous to make eye contact or we’d get the giggles like a couple of idiot teenagers instead of the idiot parents of teenagers that we were.
I have no clue what to expect today, after delusions of grandeur two weeks ago and getting my butt handed to me I have two goals: 1. Finish. 2. Finish strong(ish).
Amend, three goals: 3. No barfing.
“My brains, his steel, and your strength against sixty men, and you think a little head-jiggle is supposed to make me happy?”
Legs are jiggling. Drinking coffee, eating my bagel.
I feel like barfing.