If I could REALLY exercise a few times a week, I’d be so much more normal. By that I mean the exercise where – no matter what it is – you feel like you’re easily going to pass out or throw up or die. That sort…? That is extremely important to my sanity. Some women need chocolate to feel normal (I used to be a proud member of this group), and some women need coffee, and some women need cute shoes (i’m still there).  For me, it’s sweat.

I have no idea how to satisfy that need without ripping apart the new, delicate acl in my left knee that I’m so grateful for.

No idea how to just be sane, anyway.

And this current version of myself is driving us all nuts. I cry over nothing. Nothing! (Don’t even get me started on REAL issues, which I avoid thinking about entirely, like Haiti. Quick prayers, donations, and then the rest of the time is actively spent trying NOT to think about it. Isn’t that lovely of me? )

I have little energy, little patience, and I’m at that point where I want to call every time I see a truck with a “How’s My Driving?” phone number, and just TELL SOMEONE how the dude’s driving is, already.

I’ve noticed that I really really have need of a car horn, and mine is silent. Broken. And if it weren’t, I’d be all over that horn all the time.

See what I mean?

Irritable.

I won’t be cleared for running or biking (not that I do that yet anyway) or anything for ages. Which was enough to make me CRY last week way too much. I’m thinking water aerobics…? Maybe they’ll let me do that?

But it is January and in this state of mind a swimsuit would surely make me cry, too.

In a pool, no one would notice, though.

Seth-4yr calls teardrops, “Fops.”  And if someone is crying, he will point and solemnly say, “You have a fop on your face.”

In a pool, everyone has water fops on their faces.  Fops of pool water. Can you exercise enough in those classes so that you feel like you’ll throw up…? I don’t know.  My only experience with water classes was taking my grandmother* to hers, but it was geared to adorable seniors in skirted suits and lipstick in shades of red.  It was an unspoken dress code these ladies had, but a strict one: skirted suits in mainly black, red lipstick, short haircuts in shades of gray. They were cute and giggly.

I’m not feeling cute and I’m almost never giggly, but maybe in a pool with a group like that I would be. Where’s my red lipstick…?

* For LaLa, who knows this anyway, but whatever: the grandmother with the physically big mouth that I inherited, not the grandmother with the figuratively big mouth, which i did not inherit. Or so I think, and you probably would snort at. But don’t or I’ll cry. Ha!

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