Oh really? While it's true that I've lost a few pounds, I'm pretty sure it's not enough to make me invisible. Or weightless. My favorite treadmill, the one where I can't see any of the three screens that play music videos, informed me rather tartly that I wasn't there: press OK to continue.
Shouldn't the fact that I pressed OK on the average of once a minute until I gave up and put my hands on the sensors that pick up my pulse, have been sufficient evidence to convince said treadmill that I was, in fact, present and working out?
I let them know at the front desk. That was Tuesday morning. Either the treadmill got over its little snit, or somebody fixed it before I got there this morning. Or maybe I just got visible again.
It's been quite the day. LittleBit texted me midmorning to say she was back in the ER with more seizures. Her boyfriend was with her. She is home, medicated, and sleeping it off. He gave me a Readers Digest version. I'll check with her over the weekend.
I was wrangling three attorneys instead of my usual one and a half, and not readily able to get away. Firstborn offered to leave work, but it wasn't necessary. I turned it all over to them and to a handful of friends who pray and just stayed in work mode until I left the office.
It is a measure of how frazzled I felt when I got the news that I put her boyfriend's phone number into my contacts and suddenly couldn't remember his last name. I've known him for three years. And I *like* him. So it wasn't a subconscious thing.
By the time I got home I was able to pray a little and cry a little. I wish Beloved could slip his leash for a couple of hours. I would like a brief howl while wrapped in his arms.
Pretty sure I will be OK in the morning. I'm going to tootle on Olive for awhile and play the banjo a bit and then curl up with HP5. And try to be in bed before 10.
Wish me luck.