I’ve finally figured it out. Chocolate, while being a precious commodity, is also an artificial stimulant and it doesn’t replace endorphins. I haven’t exercised in a few weeks and I can feel it, not just in my jeans but in my head. Last month’s PMS almost resulted in me getting a criminal record, and if I don’t do something soon, this month will be more of the same.
I’m also reading blogs and emails from people at National this week. I knew six months ago that I couldn’t go; I knew six months ago that because I didn’t final in the Golden Heart, I had no reason to go. You’d think I’d accepted all that six months ago, but here I am, moping with the rest of us left-behinds. Maybe it’s because there’s nothing exciting going on. Or maybe I’ve OD’d on excitement, after Sunday at Hershey Park and Monday at the Phillies Phestival. This weekend we’re going to Rochester to watch the Buffalo Bills’ training camp at St. John Fisher College. Five hours (one way) of driving for 2 hours of football practice. I suppose the idea of Abbotts’ Custard should get me excited, but knowing what my jeans feel like, I’m having a hard time mustering up the enthusiasm.
There’s also the house hunt. After looking at a dozen houses, we’ve found one we like enough to want to make an offer. (If that’s because we can’t stomach the idea of looking at another house, I’ll leave to your imagination. Let’s just say this stopped being fun when the two realtors we were working with pulled out pistols and started counting.) We’re to the point of filing the mortgage application. That’s exciting but for all the wrong reasons. The application process means we have to face our debts head-on. And then take on more. What fun. Once we put an offer in and have it accepted, then there’s the moving process. I could get more excited about oral surgery.
In two weeks we’re going to Las Vegas. Possibly one of the few times when the destination is more fun than the journey, considering I’ve never gone through a TSA checkpoint before and I’ve heard some horrible things. John, for instance, is planning on wearing flip-flops in the airport so he doesn’t have to untie shoelaces because everyone is required to take their shoes off. Oh-kay. I have shoes I can easily slip in and out of, not to mention walk comfortably for miles in an airport, but I have to take my shoes off? Fortunately I know we’re not going to be judged on the condition of our pedicures, because I haven’t had one in two years.
I have to start working out again. I SO miss endorphins.