The ladies at my gym are all aflutter this week at the possibility of running into John Stamos of Full House fame who is filming some movie of the week in the bar under our gym. You'd think it would be mostly people who grew up in the 80's with childhood crushes on Uncle Jesse who would be most excited but today I saw women in their 50s and 60s putting on an extra coat of lipstick before they headed out in the hopes of...I'm not exactly sure. I guess something about the all female environment of the gym makes women go a bit crazy.
There always seems to be some kind of illness making the rounds at any given time, but I never really think about it unless I actually see someone who looks sick. Today there was this woman at my gym who should definitely not have been there, coughing and sneezing all over everything. I decided I should go wash my hands as soon as possible since she was touching everything, so I finished my workout and took a swig of water. When I looked up, sick woman was looking at me funny. Then I noticed I was drinking out of her water bottle, proving to me once again that the more you try to avoid something the more likely it is to end up in your lap. So I bought her a new water and crossed my fingers that she doesn't have anything too serious.
I've been enjoying living by myself this past month but I knew it would just be a matter of time before I started talking to myself. It seems to be inevitable. I now verbalize the internal pep talks I used to give myself and give a running commentary of everything I'm doing. Also, with the absence of anyone to tell me to clean up, I tell myself. Someone suggested I get a cat for company. But I think talking to a cat is weirder than talking to yourself. Plus I'd have to be a lot crazier than I am now to take on the burden and curse that is a pet cat. The best thing about moving out of my parent's house was getting away from that cat. If he could just mind his own business that would be fine, but no, it's always "Meow, meow, I'm not hungry and I don't need to go outside. I'm just going to get all up in your personal space and stare and meow. Meow! Meow!". Why can't he be like other cats who look at you like you're garbage and then run away. That I could handle.
For more on what I'm doing, see Janet's blog.
