I pulled something in my right knee pit, and it’s making me pain. The Fitbit will be sitting on my bedside table until I can dance without wincing. (Side note: Jeff and I are participating in the voluntary Fitbit Force recall because the skin on his arm is rotting off. We’ve been wearing our Forces around the clock since December, and the rotting of his skin started last week. I’m not rotting, but I’m also not willing to wait for a rot. I now have a Fitbit Zip, and you really don’t care, do you? It’s LIME GREEN!)
One of our tomato plants just reached up and touched my finger. (I am not on any medication, because I’m pretending to be one of those people who never takes medication. I actually sort of AM one of those people, if you don’t count the weird birth control pill I take every night despite the fact that I had a tubal ligation many moons ago. Migraine/ovulation prevention! I’ll be meeting my new gynecologist on April 7th!)
This morning the girls and I watched a terrible pet incident that involved two separate attacks and that’s all I can say until I’m able to talk to the neighbor whose dog was injured. The police need to be called, and I need to know if she’s going to do it or if I have to. Meredith is REALLY hoping the neighbor lady calls, because MY call could affect HER social life. Oceans of obscurity! I’ll keep you updated. (Unless I can’t.)
After getting my feathers ruffled by the canine kerfluffle (feel free to use that phrase in your songs, Tori Amos), I took the girls to the library (SPRING BREAK! It is ON!) to see if any of their reserved books were ready. On the way in, a woman with a clipboard asked if I am a registered voter. Two things: 1. I AM a registered voter. 2. I recognize this lady as someone who is always carrying a clipboard and asking me to sign things that I don’t like. (We are VERY different politically, the clipboard lady and me.) Anyway, I lied to her and told her that I’m not a registered voter, because it’s easier than telling her that I don’t have a spine. She looked at me, shook her head, and did the whole, “Mmmm, mmm, mmm.” thing to indicate how disgusted she was.
Me (after returning to the car empty-handed): Girls, it feels as if the past few years have provided me with constant tests, and I often feel that I’m failing.
Harper: Can I get gum at the store?
Me: Yes. Also, I need a fresh start. I need to get away for a bit. I’m starting to not like who I am. I need to explore. Try yoga at a reputable yoga studio. Go back to Pilates. Stare at a wall.
Meredith: Why did you write Piano on the grocery list?
Me: I have no idea. Perhaps the word Piano is a metaphor for me having 88 things going on at once and my synapses are no longer able to fire effectively.
Meredith: Do you think you meant to write Pizza? Like, for dinner?
One more thing. I just looked out the window and it’s snowing, which feels like a gift. One more snow. It’s all I ever need. (Along with a box of hair color and a cure for this knee pit thing.)