to the bottom of the exhalation

Morning, chickadees!

This is another fast moving morning, likely because I insisted on sleeping in right until seven.

Which generally, my friends, is not a big deal, except that sometimes I forget.

I forget that a morning full of twisting open jar lids is basically my new worst nightmare.

In high school, I had a friend whose mom could never twist open water bottles.

I thought this was lame, obviously.

I thought most things were lame at sixteen.

However, I would like to lob a giant I-am-so-sorry in her direction, since Saturday night I found myself handing over my iced tea bottle to sweet, 15-year old Aus who twisted it open and handed it right back to me without even a second thought.

“Where does it hurt the most?” he asked, looking concerned.

That kid is better on his worst day then I ever was at my best when I was fifteen.

In any case, this was not meant to be a pity party since, chickadees, in the end, I wrenched open the necessary lids this morning.

I’m just running a little late as a result.

I might also be kind of sweaty.

And I may have somehow cut myself during this whole endeavor.

It was sort of a battle situation.

However, I’ve got this to look forward to on my ride into work:

greensmoothie

Take that, immune system.

Up today: getting back into it, listening to good music, heading to yoga, and crossing all my fingers and toes for something exciting happening over in my corner of the Second City.

Enjoy the sunshine if you’ve got it, chicks!

 

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Chicago, Did I really do that?, Near Disaster

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s