I thought the yoga class started at 9:15. It started at 9.
I thought it was an hour long class. It was an hour and a half.
It was yoga – I thought it would be like the “Easy Does It” class I regularly attend. HA!
While I did stretch out some of the soreness from the workout the day before where I totally had my ass kicked by an instructor old enough to be my mother, I woke up this morning to all sorts of new sorenesses (I don’t care if that’s a word or not. It’s perfectly describes how I feel.) thanks to that class.
It’s one thing to get your ass kicked by the perky little 20 & 30-somethings at the gym, something else altogether to get it kicked by someone’s grandmother.
I futzed around at the gym afterwards, chatting with the friend that convinced me I should give that yoga class a try. By the time I headed out, it was well after 11.
I ran some errands, came home and started cooking meals for the week for the families that I’m personally cheffing for. (Another word I may have made up.) Spent the afternoon alternately trashing and then cleaning the kitchen. Went to the garden to pick some herbs, was spotted by the chickens, most notably Ozzy, who came running at me, babbling away. She followed me all around the yard, chattering away. She may have been looking for food, but I like to think she was telling me about her day.
I ran a quick delivery, came home and plopped down for a few minutes to just breathe. Thought I should double check the address of the meeting I’d been invited to attend at 7:00 that evening. As I pulled up the email, I noticed it started at 5:30. The clock on the wall said it was 5:12. I was still wearing the clothes I’d worn to the gym. Which actually were the pants I had slept in the night before.
Muttering a string of expletives similar to the opening scene of “Four Weddings and A Funeral”, I took a shower, got dressed, ran out the door and made it to the meeting on time. I think the universe stopped time for me for a few minutes to enable this. This is the only explanation I can come with how I showered, changed and drove across town in 18 minutes.
I came home at 7:30 to find there was exactly one glass of wine left in the very last bottle of wine in the house. I was so tired and sore it was all I could do to stay up past her bedtime, but I made it.
Thank goodness that day is over.
4 thoughts on “That kind of day.”
I'm laughing because I've had these days–and you nail the horror of finding out the right time too late or just in the nick of time!
I have so been here, where you feel like you are running at full throttle until you fall into bed. Yes, I am always happy when those days are over. BTW – I am so glad I figured out how to view your blog! AND I wish i lived closer, cause your meals sound divine!
there was exactly one glass of wine left in the very last bottle of wine in the house. – the universe was looking out for you because I'm sure it was just what you needed!
I do hope you drank that glass of wine. You deserved it. 🙂