I talked such a big game. About this step challenge at work. And how I wasn’t going to let injuries stop me from beating Tommy. And the Mayor.
Not actually winning. I don’t need to actually win. The whole thing.
But just beating them.
Because I’m pretty sure I have to quit my job if I lose to them.
And then Monday happened. And I melted entirely down. And then went for a massage. So obviously that was my rest day.
And then Tuesday. Well. Tuesday was for getting my hair done. And day drinking. And baking cookies. And not just completely melting down. Again. I obviously couldn’t walk away from those projects to go run.
And then Wednesday. That’s podcast day. So I didn’t have time. For running. (BTW, this one is going to be a fan favorite. When it finally gets released. In a month or two. Y’all just wait.)
And then Thursday.
And Tommy sends a screenshot. Of the step challenge leaderboard. And my name isn’t even on there. Even the chick that thought that weekends didn’t count is ahead of me.
Who in fuck thought it was a good idea to hold our presidential election two days after time change?
And who in fuck thought time change was a necessary evil?
And it shouldn’t be awful, right? Not in the fall. Not when we get an extra hour of sleep.
But holy hell. My body doesn’t know what the hell to do with itself.
My shoulders are still whining about the beating they took Monday night. And flinching every time I try to touch them.
If they wouldn’t hold on to every fucking thing we wouldn’t have to put them through that.
And my hormones. Fuck. I mean, they’ve mostly calmed down now. But it’s like they’re playing hide and seek with my motivation. And every time motivation starts to get ready to head out for a run. Hormones jump out. Holding a knife. And screaming at it. Talking about “I got you!!!!” And scare it back into hiding. Because it’s not sure if they’re playing or not.
But it’s my brain I’m most worried about.
I sit down to write. And I can’t find my damn words. Those bitches are just lost. Again.
I check into my classrooms to hold discussions with my students. And I can’t recall a fucking thing about juvenile or criminal justice. I’ve turned into the “I totally agree with everything you just said. Good job on your post.” student. And I’m the fucking instructor.
I decide to read. And my brain. In a panicked state of exhaustion. Just shuts the fuck down. And I just nap instead. Repeatedly.
I took three naps after work last night. And slept for 7 1/2 more hours when I went to bed.
That’s…like, that’s a problem.
I keep leaving my phone unlocked. At work. Where Tommy is.
He was just chillin on my phone yesterday. For…a while. Right in front of me. Before handing it back to me.
Like…I didn’t even know.
So…I’m sorry for any messages he may have sent. Or things he may have posted. Or hell. Any calls he may have made.
I should probably check my bank account.
Someone told me congratulations yesterday.
And I legit panicked.
Like, the actual thought “oh shit, am I pregnant?” For real went through my head.
Because obviously that’s the only reason one congratulates a woman.
I just…I don’t…
Like, I didn’t even go to “did I get a promotion” “did I get a raise?” “Did I buy a new house?” “Did I get employee of the month?”
Like, none of those very reasonable scenarios went through my head.
My brain went straight to. “Well, fuck. I guess we’re raising another kid. Alone. Again. At 46. Bitch, you bout to be real tired.”
And then remembering that I could not, in fact, be with child. I started sorting through all the other shit in my brain. To figure out what in fuck I had done worthy of celebrating.
Turns out I hadn’t done shit. Worthy of celebrating.
My child did. My son. Got engaged. To the best girl in the world.
Right. No. I know. Yeah. Obviously that’s why. Thank you.
So, here’s my thought.
Whatever the outcome of this election. We’ve got some work to do.
Like, a lot.
And we need to divide it up.
I already called dibs on juvenile and criminal justice. Like, 15 years ago. So, imma keep that one.
We assigned Fall Risk to healthcare yesterday. Because for real. It’d be great if I could just go ahead and get all of these injuries fully assessed and treated. But ain’t nobody got the coinsurance for all of that.
Rogue’s still sorting through all of the injustices and fucked uppiness of the world trying to pick her one. Because she wants to fix every damn thing. Herself. And I think she probably could. But then she wouldn’t have time to counsel me. Every damn day. So she has to pick just one. And if she doesn’t pick soon, we’re gonna assign her to fixing Congress term limits and salaries and shit.
But dammit. I need one of you to be in charge of getting rid of fucking daylight savings time.
It serves no valid purpose.
And even if my hormones would stop fucking with my motivation. I still can’t run. Because I don’t have a fucking clue where my headlamp is.
Why is it midnight at 6pm????
Just. Somebody call dibs on this issue. Please?
I cannot have an extra hour of sleep be the reason I lose this fucking step challenge.