Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Um, Proud? Sorta?

It was a somewhat challenging day. I was up at pre-dawn to take Mimosa to Madrigal practice (we don't make her take the bus when the mornings are so dark and icy — and getting up that early after two weeks of vacation indolence is quite the challenge, let me tell you) and then went to CVS . . . which didn't open for nine more minutes, so I sat in my freezing can and tried to name the 50 states in alphabetical order. (I've switched purses so I no longer have room to carry Bo Jo Jones, my still-unfinished emergency book — I don't have that many reading emergencies, thank heaven. I guess I should stick it in my glove compartment.)

Today's editing job was a pleasant and badly written document, 44 single-spaced pages, which I would usually request 12 hours to edit. However, the client is on a tight budget and could only allow me four. Four. Crazytown. I did a crap edit, which never feels good, even if that's what the job was. Editors are perfectionists. And also a little nuts.

Then I attempted to hang a string of lights inside my front window, something I've been attempting to do since we took down Christmas last week. First, Husband gave me a string of lights that worked fine outside but were half burned out by the time I got them hung (something I didn't realize until after I'd hung them). I left them up for a week, half of them twinkling at me, half of them dark as the Grave, but today I'd had enough. Since I was at CVS anyway, I perused their post-Christmas 10 million percent off light selection and came home with 150 indoor/outdoor white lights, with the curious notation "grid."

Well. Those of you more familiar with light lingo than I (which would be pretty much anyone) know that I don't want a "grid," which is a squarish small web; I want a "string." I spent almost a full hour cutting apart the webbing that made it a grid, so that I could have an approximation of a string (and I tested it periodically to make sure it worked before I hung it). Except — right before I hung it I must have cut a wire, not a string (they looked identical) . . .

. . . because after I hung it, I plugged it in. And it didn't light.

It was only two dollars, but still. A whole hour!!!! And it's not like it was fun.

I gave up and laid down on my bed to drink Diet 7-Up and read my new Maisie Dobbs book, which is awesome! And it's so cold outside and so cozy inside, and I've gotta tell you: The only thing I wanted to do less than go to zumba tonight was to de-web another string of lights.

I think you get the picture.

But I didn't even entertain the thought of ditching for more than two seconds; I put on my big-girl sports panties and headed out into the minus trillion degrees to zumba. Because I am awesome.

(I said this to myself a lot in the car, as a little pep talk, and then watched my words freeze in the air. It is DAMN COLD here. You get that, right? Anyone who voluntarily leaves their house to exercise in this weather should get a medal. Or a puppy to hold. Something.)

And then — the Italian Spitfire wasn't there. The sub was Young Camembert, who's taught us before; she's 12 years old, adorable and bouncy, with no center of gravity whatsoever, but her class is always fun.

Except and except.

Either:
  • My arthritis is temporarily acting up, possibly because of the cold weather; it'll get better
  • Because I haven't done zumba for two weeks, all my muscles and joints have stiffened up; it'll get better
  • My arthritis has gotten much worse; it won't get any better; I can't do zumba any more
For whatever reason, I was in a ton of pain and could barely do a quarter of the things Young Camembert did. And all her routines felt very high-impact — and also, it's always hard to follow a new teacher and unfamiliar routines, and that's pretty much all she did tonight. (When she's subbed before, she did the Italian Spitfire's routines — not sure why she went another way tonight.)

I barely broke a sweat!

And now I'm depressed and worried, rather than smug and exuberant, like I usually feel after zumba.

Ugh ugh ugh.

I'm still glad I went though, rather than chicken out and stay home. And now I have a hot bath, ibuprofen, and Maisie Dobbs to look forward to — and that's something. Plus, I made money today, and I have work scheduled for tomorrow and the next day as well. And I have a new job to apply for, Content Editor for Web courses at some college somewhere — very part-time and temporary, but I can totally do it. I'll send my application tomorrow.

(I did hear from one of the other jobs I applied for, the Oral History transcriber or whatever: "We regret to inform you that we are unable to pursue your candidacy any further on this occasion." Yes, it's a rejection, but so genteel! And: I think I'll survive.)

I have another zumba class on Thursday, we shall just see. Maybe I'll do some serious stretching ahead of time and take prophylactic ibuprofen. Couldn't hurt, right?

OK, time for bath. We'll see if I can get in and out of the tub with no assistance, since I'm a hundred freaking years old, apparently.

Ugh ugh ugh.

— Lady C Methuselah

2 comments:

  1. take heart sweetpea, i know how you feel. i sat reading your blog scarfing down a pepperoni wrap (do they have pepperoni wraps in the us?). then i stabbed myself in the finger with the scissors trying to take the wrapping on a lollipop. this was choice of a healthy lunch. my pants are too tight, i don't swim anymore, my shoulders and hips ache from the cold, my age - who knows? i think i would benefit from a personal assistant or a ladies maid. i have to have a shower, i have to pick up my daughter from school. i have to try and get the horses in. i have to clean up the house. but here i sit.

    but i can't complain. i'm reading "cranford". it's only minus 10 and i'm going to the wool store with my sister tomorrow. remember, if you have time i would love to employ you to edit my blog posts. i have plans to self-publish a wee book of them sometime this year. just for me. you know, canadian money is very pretty. all blue, purple, red and brown...... i could beg you in a very genteel way.
    keep your eye on the prize my girl, everything will turn out in the end
    bev xx
    ps. sorry for the blog length comment.

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    1. Oh, man, a pepperoni wrap - YUM. I have never heard of such a thing!! But I bet an enterprising sandwich-maker at a pizzeria could concoct one for me. I will be in touch re: editing your blog posts (such fun! though you need very little editing -- in my opinion you're ready to go), and oh how I would love to be your personal assistant! I am very skilled at unwrapping lollies and would love to learn to bring in a horse. "Here, Horsie! Come in, right here!" That's how I would start.

      Talk to you soon!

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