Each time Blogger leaps about like a puppy about to pee itself, I get nervous. A lot of bloggers get nervous. Over the weekend sometime, Blogger upgraded some contraption and now I can’t preview. What’s this post going to look like? We don’t know! Fortunately, I love surprises, and when one of my posts doesn’t suck, it’s Happy Birthday to Me! So let’s hope for cake.
Two stories are burning up bandwidth in the Blogosphere tonight. One is that Bush is actually planning to double the number of combat troops in Iraq, which comes with a tasty sidedish of Congressional Democrats caving. The other story is that the President appointed himself Emergency Czar. This is a highly unusual step that circumvents two whole branches of our government as described by the Constitution. On a daily basis, I find one news story out of Washington so astounding I can’t believe what I’ve just read; to find two appalling stories in one day is almost more than I can bear. I gotta think about something else tonight.
Daria and Tyler are in Hawaii, which doesn’t suck except that neither of them sleeps well and there’s a substantial time difference between the Jersey Shore and the North Shore. After that last gypsy caravan to Virginia, Tyler handed me one of his cell phones he didn’t use, said, “Use it to call your sisters,” and stalked off. I stared. Talk to them more? Not without quitting my job, I can’t. But what the Hell, Sunday I charged the paperweight and called. It was noon on my living room floor. Daria was thrilled to talk to me at six in the morning because, of course, she was up. She sounded like her eyes were rolling around in her head but if you have to have insomnia, Maui is a fine place to have it. She said they were thinking of going snorkeling or canoing with giant tortoises and suddenly I pictured a family reunion coinciding with Discovery’s Shark Week. I said she should stick to canoing, as it had a lesser probability of ending in teeth.
On the other hand, what the hell do I know? For months, I’ve been staring at the weights on my living room floor and wondering why I’m not lifting them. I love lifting weights. I’ve been doing it off and on for thirty years. I’ve stared at the yoga mat. Why am I not doing yoga? I don’t know. I haven’t known for a long time. Yesterday, I was staring at the weights again when I thought, ‘Uh, princess, you walk to work every day. Why not velcro on those wrist weights?’ Sure, I felt stupid getting a bright idea at this late date, but this morning I wrapped the weights around my wrists and patted the fastener, then repeated the process on the way home. I should have done this months ago.
And frosting. I should’ve done that, too.