I’m having one of those days. Not one of those days where everything is going terribly wrong, but one of those days where everything is mediocre: I woke up absurdly late today for no real reason. My ankle is still killing me, even though it is most definitely NOT broken or fractured. (I saw the x-rays, so I know that there’s nothing funky going on inside my foot…it’s just skinny little intact bones surrounded by swollen cankle flesh.) I don’t like what I’m wearing, and my shirt smells weird. My boots squeak when I walk. Everything I’ve eaten today has been boring. I have a test in class tonight, even though my professor has assured us that it’s not a test, just a “writing exercise.”
I sound like Debbie Downer-ish martyr, but I’m not actually that upset. I’m just feeling…blah. Feeling blah is almost worse than actually feeling like crap. When you feel like crap, or like crying, you can justifiably skip class or eat a pint of ice cream or watch dozens of old episodes of Arrested Development instead of writing your paper. But when you’re feeling blah, your conscience won’t let you get away with those things. (“Save the Chubby Hubby for when you really need it,” your conscience says.)
I’m not sure why I’m blogging about this. Kathleen and I certainly didn’t set out to be the kind of bloggers who tell you what they ate for breakfast and post pictures of their cats wearing Christmas sweaters, but I’ve somehow gotten into the habit of posting a lot about my life. In my defense, I don’t like cats, and I’m conveniently allergic to them, but you get the point. As my officemate would say, “Blergh.”
That was a fun litany of first-world problems, huh?! Let’s listen to my new favorite waiting-for-the-bus song and forget that any of this ever happened:
There. I feel better already.
[Posted by Mallory]