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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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The Demon of Long Story Short
Funny Fun Gym Night: Went with Max to the gym last night and it was dead dead dead there. It was terrific. We found a bench right away and began to lift. And then The Demon Who Always Does The Right Thing came in. And then x came in. And then The Boy came in. It was like Nerd Night at the gym. I loved it. If Sublingua ran the world, there would always be more nerds and fewer jocks at the gym. Because, you know, if you're going to dream, dream big. Gym Nerds, Part II: Mayflower asked me about a week ago if I would start a kickboxing class with her. I said sure. (Even with the whole, you know, having no coordination so that I'm going to embarrass the hell out of myself in a kickboxing class.) And Mayflower? I guess I should say that she's unhappy with her body right now and wants to start exercising and eating right and yadda yadda yadda. And I've been in her place, so I'm sympathetic to the cause, you know. So I agree when she suggests things like exercising together. And I'm (as) nonjudgmental (as I can be) when she backs out of them. So I get some hint a couple of days ago that she isn't really planning on doing this kickboxing class...and she asked if she could just come and do my workout with me. I said sure, even knowing that it would mean some kind of abbreviated workout for me because she's pretty out of shape and has the attention span of a gnat and is kind of bratty when it comes to getting her way so that she would make me miserable if I wanted to stay and work out and to avoid being miserable I'd end up leaving with her and doing something that she really wanted to do like going to the nearest coffee shop watching her eat pastry all the while complaining about how "bad" she was being. [The Demon Who Always Does The Right Thing calls them "Closet Friends" because you're not sure sometimes why you even bother to call them friends and their chief purpose in your life seems to be to remind you of how good you have it because they don't appreciate all the wonderful things that they have--all they do it complain and complain and complain about things.] Anyway, then Mayflower called yesterday and backed out of the workout. Of course. And x had called and asked about the possibility of green beer (more below) and so I asked her if she didn't want to come out for that purpose. And she agreed, but wanted everyone to skip their workouts and come out earlier to fit her schedule (!). I kind of laughed that one off and told her I'd call her when we were finished at the gym. x and I talked and agreed that 8:45 was about the time we'd be finished. (I lift and then do 30-45 minutes of cardio, and x is doing this crazy thing where he does a mini-triathelon five days a week: swimming, then biking, then running.) Anyway, just to long-story-short this thing: Of course when I called, she backed out on me again. So when she called today for me to go on a walk, I didn't pick up. And I have no intention of providing her with any explanation why. x's Big Adventure, or, Kiss Me, I'm Wasted: So x wanted to go out and drink green beer in honor of some holiday, I think. And it wasn't so much the green beer (as he reminded me, "You put green food coloring in a Guinness, and it's still black") it was mostly the going out part. x is kind of lonely recently. Maybe all his real friends went out of town for spring break or something, because it's pretty damn rare that he invites me out drinking. Anyway, I tried to arrange a night out with Max and Mayflower and The Enforcer (and don't think when Mayflower backed out that I didn't try to get her to send The Enforcer in her stead) and The Boy (who was going to his nearby home town to act as chauffeur to his drunken friends). But no one but Max could be guilted into it. So after working out, x went off to take a shower and Max and I went back to my place to have some dinner and then I was going to shower. As we were finishing dinner, x called and said that he was ready to go. This is a kind of amazing x trick, considering that he is never, never, never ready when he says he's going to be. In the past, it's always been SOP to just tack twenty to forty minutes to his ETA so as to avoid having to cool one's heels while waiting for him to show up. But recently he's been doing this thing--designed, I think, for maximum discombobulation purposes--where he shows up on time. Anyway, when he called, I sent Max off with him and then I jumped into the shower. I have a forty minute minimum prep time on Going Out Sublingua (The Makeup-Minimized Version), so I told them I'd meet them at the nearest pub in a bit. The nearest pub, however, was turning patrons away and so they walked up to the nearest restaurant which is where I met them later. I had a third of a beer (I asked Max to get me a light beer and he got me a light-hued beer when in fact I had wanted a "lite" beer) and a bite of yucky chocolate cake and a few bites of some yummy lemon cake. And then we all came home. Big night out, right? You envy my 24-hour party people schedule, don't you? Rock on, children. Slow: Perceptions Playing: Did the unthinkable this morning. I knew I was going to start my period today. (I don't know what tipped me off. Maybe it was the tender, udder-sized boobs. Or maybe the digestive system gone bad. Or maybe it was the insane sugar and salt and fat cravings. Or maybe the mood swings from hell. Or the period zit face. Or the retention of enough water to float a tanker. Or maybe--) Anyway, knowing this, I stepped on the scale this morning. And I usually gain 3-5 pounds during my period and then just as quickly lose it the day after my period ends. (I don't know--and I don't want to know--where it comes from or where it goes.) But just seeing those pounds on the scale this morning, however expected they were? I went home and went back to bed. And this afternoon, I had to swing by Tar-zjay for some contact lens solution. And I thought I'd look at the clothes. And, yeah, right. I pulled a size 11 off the rack and the fat chick inside (you always hear that inside every fat chick is a thin chick trying to get out--and one of my favorite Absolutely Fabulous lines is when Edina tells her mother this, and her mother replies, "Just the one, dear?"--but inside my fat chick self was a thin chick who had another fat chick inside like one of those toys, those Russian bowling pin-shaped dolls, that keep opening up to reveal yet another doll--only mine get bigger and smaller in some kind of wacky way... I'm insane, aren't I?) just about died. She knew that everyone was looking at her, wondering why she wasn't back in the corner in the "PLUS SIZES" section, wondering why she was bothering to look at the cute, little, short, flippy skirts and not at the huge, these-aren't-mu-mu-s-no-really-they-aren't knits. So I decided. That. Maybe. There should be no clothes shopping today. Instead I bought my lens stuff, a bottle of water, and a Pria bar. And, walking out, passed a woman in the Easter Candy aisle. She was huge. She was me. And she was buying candy. And she knew. I mean, not about me. But she knew about her. And I know that she knew because she did the thing that the fat chick in me (who knows that people hate to touch fat people, or even to get too close to them) still does: Though there was plenty of room for us to pass each other in the aisle, she moved herself and her basket over and she said, "Excuse me." And I smiled and said, "Excuse me," as kindly as I could. Who am I? Who am I this week? I want to be The Demon Who Gains, but, God, don't let me be The Demon Who Gains It All Back.
More lies:
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