Be There For Bungling At Which

Topaz curled up in my lap an hour ago and my legs fell asleep. The tiny tiny cat is insistent that no task at hand could be more important that petting her. I can barely reach the keyboard, but what’re you gonna do? Topaz is a cat; ergo: her logic is impeccable.

Tomorrow is the last appointment for this round of physical therapy, which I described to my doctor as “my new lifestyle.” The future in which I plan my own daily exercise regimen is nearly upon us. The weather has changed from frozen to muddy, but the temperature is rising a bit every day. By next week, I’m hoping to climb back on the bicycle and crisscross the river on sunny work days. Last Saturday, I met a Hatha Yoga teacher and though the idea of sitting cross-legged on a cool floor meditating fills me with several kinds of dread, a weekly class four blocks from my house makes a whole lot of sense.

Well, what the hell. While other people are omming, I can warble Why Do Fools Fall In Love.

A block from the yoga teacher’s new digs a tai chi school has set up shop with an eye-catching program for arthritics. Classes are ungodly expensive and the schedule is a little confusing. I’m thinking this seems like a practical way to burn some vacation days if I suddenly win the lottery. Today, I had a hard time sashaying from the library to my car. Maybe I should ease on down to the drug store and buy a lottery ticket.

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3 responses to “Be There For Bungling At Which

  1. Samantha believes that because I once wrote a great post with her lying across both my forearms, she is therefore a Writing Aide. Cat logic my foot.

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