My foot hurts. Like, bad. And it's getting worse. It hurt a little bit after the 16-mile run almost two weeks ago. It hurt enough more on Saturday that I didn't run my 12. And now it hurts like I dropped a bowling ball on it. I wonder how long the denial will last ... and when I'll finally admit that I should see someone about it before the marathon.
We're out of food. I was in Iowa for a small-ish family emergency last weekend and the husband has been traveling for work for most of the last week and I've been living at work since I got back and we're so out of food I actually ate crackers for dinner tonight. And the last of the eggs. And the last of the cheese. And the last of the jelly. Now all that's left is grapes.
I hate grapes. That deserves its own bold listing. I'll eat grapes because they're supposed to be good for me, but they're tart and slimy and they make my TMJ tingle and they go bad easily and they freak me out so I refuse to like them.
It's cold. Fall = the death of summer. Which = the death of hot guys in shorts and tank tops. So fall = the death of all things good and wholesome and true. Fall should be renamed I Kick Puppies. And cold weather makes me want to snuggle in bed instead of hop up and be productive. And when the husband's gone all week, what is the point of snuggling in bed?
My TiVo doesn't work. It freezes up when I try to watch stuff on it. It hasn't updated its menu since the Sotomayor hearings. And it takes at least half an hour to warm up to do the few piddly functions it can handle.
My disk drive doesn't work. When I stick in a CD, it thinks about it for a couple seconds and just spits it back out. Very disrespectful.
My cell phone loses battery power faster and faster. I'm holding out on replacing it until Apple wakes up and makes an iPhone that works with a cellular service that isn't a joke.
I'm going through withdrawal. I haven't had a refreshingly delicious, caffeine-laden diet carbonated beverage in over 72 hours. And I miss the chemicals. My body needs the chemicals, man. But I don't want to drink anything dehydrating for two weeks before the marathon so I went cold turkey after the #3 McDonald's value meal I snarfed down on my drive home from Iowa on Sunday. And frankly, I don't miss the jumpy Diet Coke tummy. Or the rusty Diet Coke breath. But I do miss the refreshingly delicious, caffeine-laden carbonated chemical rush. Oh, do I miss it. I miss it more than Sally misses Ben. Or abstinence-only education misses reality. Or the pope misses relevance.
Matt missed a hair. I got my nose waxed on Monday. Because I refuse to have old-man spiders hanging out of my nose. It hurts worse than the stupid that drools out of Maggie Gallagher, but ten seconds of pain keeps the spiders at bay for over a month. But Matt (he's the nose waxer) seems to have missed one stray spider leg. And getting up from my computer to find a scissors so I can cut it seems exhausting.
My foot hurts. Still. But I'm also still in denial. So all I can do about it right now is complain.