Woke up this morning in a pissy mood.
The pissy mood was a direct result of the dreams I was having. Some of y’all know about my dreams, how vivid and real they are, and the lot of them that 'showed' last night were among the most vivid and distressing I’ve had, which is saying something, and involved, among other things 1) public naked backrubs, 2) open stairways, 3) poor real estate choices, and 4) family snippiness. Not a melange of rainbows and puppies at all, much more a stew of ill feelings, self-doubt, and astonishment at the rudeness of most EVERYBODY in the dreams.
(I mean really...if you're going to give your girlfriend a rubdown in the FRONT YARD of your house while oily and naked, do NOT tell me the oversized silk flower you have positioned aginst your ass crack is 'proper coverage according to town ordinance,' because Missy, it is NOT, and you're just putting on a salcious show not only for your dozen half-naked acolytes who are crouched on your walk but also to the neightbors and very interested passers-by, some of who include 1) my husband and 2) my kids, neither of whom I much care to be seeing your admittedly delicious body undulating aginst the equally yummy body of your same-sex lover. Just TAKE IT IN THE BACK YARD, bitch! You're giving me a complex!
Any of you who'd like to borrow this dream, feel free. I am SO done with it)
I'm sure I'm like about 90% of the population in that I don’t care for being pissed off on awakening, so I did the only reasonable thing in those circumstances – I went jogging.
Shush with your gasps of aghastitude, dear reader! Anger is a wonderful powerhouse for physical activity. It’s too bad I’m not angry more often, or I’d be as hardbodied as Scary Spice.
Normally I can only jog for a few minutes at a time, begging for rest at the 5-minute mark (or, about a third of a mile). Today, after strapping on my new steel-belted sports bra and other runnerly accoutrements, I went over a half a mile before taking a walk break of a BLOCK, then started running again the 0.6 miles home.
Keep your snickering down in the back. Jogging over a half a mile at ONCE, for me, is HUGE. Yes, I’m as slow as a paralytic turtle, and yes, I was pouring sweat when I was done, but dammit, that was at least twice as far as I’ve gone before and it.felt.wonderful.
What can I get ticked off about tomorrow morning, I wonder? Suggestions?
Note to self: it does not pay to leave the house 10 minutes earlier to drop off Thing 2 at school. Those 10 minutes will be spent waiting in the frigging car conga line, watching the minutes tick by, NOT depositing him into the loving embrace of his scholarly pursuits one second sooner than if you’d left with barely enough time to make it there.
At t-minus 2 minutes, the time we normally get to school, there is no line. Magick!
This is all the more important to adhere to because those extra 10 minutes could have been spent quaffing a second cup of high-test caffeinated beverage.
Stupid suburban parents and their NEED to be in my space.
Note to all y’all: If you know your child has the same name as another child at their school, much like poor Thing 1 does, make SURE, when the school calls looking for your kid who hasn’t shown up to, oh, say…BAND CAMP, that they’re not actually looking for the other kid FIRST, before you race off to said camp muttering about how you don’t remember officially signing you kid UP for oh, say…..BAND CAMP and now you’re doubting your memory and wondering if in a year or so you’ll be the one talking to your shoes and wearing potted plants as hats.
With that sage advice in your purse of wisdom, I leave you and hope you have a sparkly day.