It’s been really windy and rainy the past two days. As a result, walking the puppy early in the morning has inspired the same kind of enthusiasm I might muster if I were on my merry way to visit a proctologist for an exam. Now how’s that for a nice Friday mental-image?
This morning was particularly unpleasant because the trash company flaked on the whole neighborhood and so we’ve all still got our trash cans sitting out on the curb like lonely children waiting to get picked up from school. The wind has really helped the situation by blowing open all the trash can lids and dispersing trash like confetti. As I was pulling out of the driveway I was fortunate enough to witness the empty bag of dog food blow off the top of our trash can and into the gutter next to our house. Lovely. Next thing you know, the wind’s going to pick up the little blue poop bags we use to contain Doc’s feces and we’ll have flying poop on our hands. Yet another lovely mental image for you! What can I say? I’m a giver.
The nice thing about the weather is that it’s not terribly cold, just wet and windy. I went running last night after I got home because I needed to work off some rage and sort my thoughts and I just can’t do that in a warm, comfortably appointed home. So I got home, threw on my running outfit (which makes me look vaguely homeless, or maybe like I’m in the process of moving), and out the door and into the wild night I went.
It was an interesting night to go running because the wind kept blowing my hat off like an annoying school bully and I had to bob and weave around the hundreds of trash cans littering the sidewalk. I ran for as long as I could stand it (which, in my soft and squishy state is not long), walked a bit, and then ran some more.
After the third cycle of run-walk-run I started feeling an uncomfortable burning in my lungs. I slowed down and tried to slow my heart rate which was difficult because I found that I couldn’t draw a full breath. I tried a few times and each time it was painful. I gradually became aware that my breathing sounded similar to someone blowing air through two pieces of plastic.
Ladies and gentlemen, I was having my very first asthma attack (diagnosed by me). I literally ran myself into an asthma attack. By the time I got home I was lightheaded from all the not-breathing I was doing. After a mug of peppermint tea and a lot of sitting I returned to normal but I have to admit it was a shocking experience for me. I’ve never had allergies (except to bananas and Ambien. I’ll have to blog about my run-in with Ambien another time, perhaps), I never had asthma as a child, and I’m generally impervious to the annoying physical maladies that plague most of the people I know.
I’m hoping the asthma is a fluke. I’m hoping that the cosmos aligned perfectly on that one day and that it was a one-time occurrence. Otherwise, I may cry for having lost the freedom to pound pavement when I’m angry about something and then splurge on eating some chocolate when I’m finally feeling better.
In other news, I was delighted to find that I had a heretofore unknown political ally in my office. A coworker and I were discussing the Iowa caucuses this morning and he mentioned that he was supporting the same presidential candidate that Wes and I will be voting for. We weren’t able to talk for long because apparently we’re getting paid to work and not chat but it was encouraging nonetheless. It was encouraging because it was nice to know that my husband and I aren’t the only ones in the world who know who this candidate is and that means hope, if only a little.
If you really want to know who the candidate is please feel free to ask me. I will not, however, foist my opinions upon you like an unwelcome houseguest.
In closing, I will share with you the wisdom of my husband Wesley. When I asked him how he could possibly enjoy being around me when I’m angry and difficult, he sweetly responded, “I just stuff you full of chocolate until you can’t talk anymore”. I think he really gets me, don’t you?