Dearest reader, I hope you can forgive the lull in my posts. Over the last week and a half in the mornings, instead of stumbling out of the blankets with bedhead and a slight hangover to sit down at the computer and bang out some trivialities about my life, I’ve been rising early to get a little action on. Yes, six days of the week I’ve been in front of an uptown coffee shop at 6:30 AM, huddling against rain or wind, for a three-mile walk up and down PT hills with a group of my ladyfriends. It’s been a lot of fun and a good workout, but it’s come at the expense of my various more typical patterns including drinking, blogging, and staying up too late. So it really remains to be seen if I want to trade one good habit (that requires discipline and fortitude) for a few bad ones (that I really enjoy).
On yesterday’s walk one of the ladies spied my Doc Martens – the best walking gear I have, but woefully lacking in arch support and each weighing about a pound, which contributes in large part to the shooting shin splints so fierce that even as I listen to a girlfriend while nodding, “Yes, yes…” I am also thinking, Holy Mother Of God I Am Going To Kill Myself If The Pain Gets Any Worse. In Fact Ladies, Please Just Leave My Limp Body On The Side Of The Road And Send For Help. Still, I have at this moment not the time, money, or inclination to head “to the city” and get some walking shoes, so… there it is. Well, yesterday afternoon while I was out, the particular gal who had noticed my inappropriate footwear brought by a pair of women’s Reeboks, perfectly my size and brand-new – probably an $80 pair of shoes. They were gifted to her and she hadn’t found a use for them yet.
My feet feel much better today. This particular woman is on my “You Rock” list and she’s getting some homemade candy from me very, very soon.
My kids are giving me hell this week. Yesterday afternoon Mia and I dubbed our three-kid event at her house, “Traumatic Playdate”. Much more so for the moms than the babes, I think. Right now I’m sitting here typing as my youngest goes down for his nap, my oldest finishes her lunch, and a combination headache and stomach ulcer drill their separate holes into my major organs. Bad shape. Must eat. But mostly, must be left alone. All I need. Is one hour. One hour of no phone, no kids, no husband, no email, no drop-in guests. And hey housecat, you’d better stay the f*ck away too, if you know what’s good for you.