I woke up grumpy this morning… really grumpy. I dreamed that I had to move back to Watson into my childhood next door neighbor’s house. I was doing it to save money. However, as I looked into it further, it didn’t really seem like that great of a deal. I’d now have to pay for gas to drive into town rather than having my 2 minute commute. I’d have to drive to work out somewhere as there aren’t the running areas that I need. When I walked into the house and took a tour, the house looked exactly the same as it did in the 70s … with the exception that it was old, the paint was cracked and all the fixtures were stained. ‘Yuck… I thought. I don’t have the money to refurbish this place.’ The alarm went off about the time I was trying to figure out how this was going to save me money. I woke up in a snit.
I dragged my ass to the gym because I’d told the B*tch I would. She’d given me some new workout with all of these goofy squat moves that just made me feel awkward and uncoordinated. For some reason, every man in town was in the gym this morning. I felt like some gawky high school girl working out with the football team. I tried to be friendly to one and say something funny, and he looked at me like I’d just told him that he had a chicken on his head. ‘What a jerk’, I thought. I got out to the car and texted the B*tch to tell her that the workout was too long, so I couldn’t finish it. I went on to add that I hated all these awkward exercises she was giving me. I finally realized I was just grumpy. I’m sure the workout was fine, but don’t tell her that. And, as for that guy, I wish I had his number to text him what I thought. I wish he did have a chicken on his head.
I said I would let myself have caffeine once in a blue moon, and today’s moon was blue. I went to Starbucks and had a 1/2 caf latte. I can feel that sweet elixir running through my veins. Of course, Starbucks has gone and bought a French pastry shop. Their food used to suck. Now, a visit there costs me almost $8 instead of the usual $5. Corporate greed …. I told the girl at the counter that I didn’t like it. She said they loved it! See what I mean. Then, she looked at my shirt and read, “See? (laughing) …. shift happens. Love that shirt.” I wanted to punch her in the face but not until she handed over my warm chocolate croissant.
I checked my email, and Athleta is having a sale. Really? I just bought some stuff from there. REALLY? With the greed of Starbucks and the audacity of Athleta having a sale, I’m going to die destitute but very well-dressed. Since I now have some lovely – although minute – grams of caffeine flowing through my veins, my energy has started to pick up. And, in my own personal fashion, I turn on myself. Why do I talk so much? Is that really who I’m supposed to be? How do you balance being humble and having the personality of an ENFP? Am I doomed to go through my life trying to be somebody I’m not or feel guilty for being as wacky as I really am? How is that fair? And, who made that decision to make me that way anyway? ‘I know … let’s give her a personality that talks too much but a conscience that tells her to sit down and shut up! That’ll be fun to watch!’
And who is the moron that came up with the idea that the weekend should be 2 days. It had to have been some man who had a wife at home who took care of the house so all he had to do was come home and pop open beer cans while he sits on the sofa in front of the TV. TWO days? Really? By Sunday, he’s sick of her nagging and was probably glad to get back to work to look at his hot young secretary in her tight black skirt. Let’s re-think this, please. We need one day for errands and house-cleaning, one day for spiritual growth and one day for pure fun. Why is it that men were in charge when all of these important decisions were made?
Have a great weekend, y’all. Mine’s got nowhere to go but up.