I’ve been trying to do one scary thing each week. That’s easy, considering everything scares me. Yesterday I found someone who also used to have a fear of shopping alone in grocery stores. Vindication! Now we need a clinical name and we’re set. Being that agoraphobia was (I think) originally “fear of the marketplace,” we may be well on the road to an extended medical leave and many happy therapy sessions. Maybe we could start a support group, where one person holds up flashcards of melons and boxed rice until the other person has a panic attack.
Baseball was improved last night with the advent of the “tag-ball” rule. If someone throws the ball at you and it hits you while you’re running to a base, you are totally out, cheesehead. This was helpful to me because a) I don’t like all the running involved with chasing people down and b) I can throw a ball but I can’t remember to throw it to someone. This way even if the ball winds up miles from my teammates, I still have a chance at getting an out.
Here’s who played:
Jacob (broken toe)
Michele (broken ankle)
Ellie (broken finger)
Dustin (intense heartburn and shitty day)
Jason (knocked down by Ellie)
Erica (also knocked down by Ellie)
Ash (knocked down by Dustin)
Me (4 hours of sleep for the week so far)
Dan (healthy, but very disgruntled about the new rule)
Don’t bother checking for updates this weekend because I’ll be asleep. Although my body has now moved past tired into that distrustful, grumpy wakefulness (word?) that you get when your whole corpus is thinking “Sure, lie down, nine o’clock at night. Lie down allll you want. But I know damn well in half an hour the phone will ring or something else and you’ll be up again, so no way in hell am I falling asleep until at least one a.m. You got it?” I am suffused with a false cheer, but behind the perky chatter my brain is emitting, I am hearing that song “Running on Empty.”
Fuck I hate that song.