I didn't wake up on time today. Therefore, I was rushing out the door in a flurry of arms, legs, wispy fly-away hairs, pink bag (oooh, and it's a cute pink bag, too -- check it out here: http://www.lifeisgood.com/product-details.aspx?sku=69371TDAIBLM&description=Raw%20Edge%20Tote%20Daisy%20on%20Bloom&from=/category/women/bags-wallets/), and all, and Maddie the Cat was left wondering where in the heck her belly rub was.
Suffice it to say, there was no coffee made this morning. I didn't think it was a terribly huge deal until I got to physical therapy and was telling Michael that I'd gotten a Charley horse in the night, and it was still sore. So, of course, he couldn't leave the area alone. He had to press and knead it, which just about sent me off the table I was on. And then he did it -- the one thing to send me to my ledge. He asked the question that sent my unmedicated, uncaffeinated head into an emotional tailspin of oh-my-gosh-I-must-have-a-tumor. "Did you tear something back here?"
"WHAT!" I squeaked. Of course, I immediately saw dollar signs and many, many days off of work, and I broke out into a cold sweat, and was all, "NO! I couldn't have! Why? Does it feel like I have?"
Perfectly calmly, he replied, "Nope. I was just asking. So, do you get these a lot?"
"Well, hail!" I thought to myself -- it's really hell, but it sounds like hail down here. "Well, hail, now what's wrong? They're going to have to saw the leg off at the hip! Good grief! I do not have time for this. Doesn't the cosmos understand this???" This manic conversation was going on inside my head, that was banging ferociously, due to lack of caffeine and the fact that yet another weather front had blown through.
"No ... well, recently, yes, " I whined. "Why? Did I do something wrong? I mean I drank all sorts of water yesterday."
"Could be a lack of potassium," Michael interjects.
Hmmm ... I decided not to mention that I've consistently forgotten to eat one out of the three daily recommended meals each day since I've started camping out in my room. Probably where the potassium deficiency plays out, but why did he need to know this.
Well, I managed to climb down that particular ledge on my own, only to be sucked into the gym vortex by Caleb, who, on the directive of Michael, stuck me on a treadmill, inappropriate shoes and all. He even commented on my cute but inappropriate footwear before he ratcheted the stupid thing up to "make-the-gimp-jog" levels.
Did I mention I was also wearing an adorable skort and cutie tee? Certainly not gym wear, but definitely Starbucks-worthy, which is where me and my unstable mind were headed immediately following the Physical Therapy Session from Hell.
"That too easy for you?" He said smiling coyly. Call me crazy, but his smug look made me think he was thoroughly enjoying my discomfort, the sadist.
"Well, shoot, Caleb, you're suppose to start me out slowly! I'm not jogging my first day. Had I known I would have worn more appropriate shoes."
Oh he thought that was exceedingly funny, which did nothing for my mood or my mental state.
I've managed to do side-step hip extensions, four ways, quarter lunges, step ups, and the total gym in skort and flip-flops, but the treadmill was a bit of a challenge, especially when Captain America announced that I wasn't allowed to hold on to the side bars of the treadmill. I'm telling you, they are all sadists.
Thank God in Heaven for the individual that invented Starbucks coffee and the Pike Place blend. Two motrins and one VENTI later, I'm floating somewhere in between mildly serene and I-just-don't-give-a-flying-flip-anymore.