Ventilatin

My dad, for years, responded to the question "How are you?" with the phrase "Enh, getting by with a shove." He switched it up this year, and said "Oh, yknow, upright and ventilatin."

Well, two days ago at work, our HR consultant came in. Someone asked him how he was doing. "Oh, you know, vertical and ventilating. Har har har." He's of approximately the same vintage as my dad.

When do you get too old to believe that your Daddy is the cleverest man on earth and then get disappointed when you find out he didn't make everything up his own self? I mean, I ask you. I mean, I think 33 might be too old.

Anyway, that is how I am feeling. I am indeed upright, and I am indeed ventilating.

Ventilating with a vengeance, in fact. I'm going to yoga four times a week and tomorrow, I start jogging again. If I'm going to cry, from here on in, I'm going to cry while I'm doing something useful that makes me remember to breathe.

I realized a few days ago that I have been forgetting to do that. Sounds impossible, right, cause it's autonomic, right, and your body is pretty good at autonomically doing shit that will keep it alive. But nonetheless, I would start feeling slightly lightheaded, think "I must be dying! And I've got that weird tiny lump on my ribcage! That's it! I've got a tumour!", and then realize that I was holding my breath. Sadly, it took me quite a while to figure out that I was doing it with some regularity.



My friends are lovely. I spent last night over at the Grs, visiting with them, their absolutely delightful children (Oh. My. God. If those children don't make my uterus ache, I think we can be pretty sure my uterus is not hip to the baby jive.) and Duff. He is, I'm certain, the politest person I know, in general, and also because he remained dutifully and kindly oblivious as Fiona accidentally punched me in the boob a couple of times and repeatedly lifted my shirt to trace my ouroboros tattoo and stick her finger in my belly button.

Indeed, I have become the hipster aunt. Ruby, particularly, is fascinated by my accoutrements: glasses! nosering! earring! more earrings! She touches each in turn, mesmerized. It is quite nice to have someone mesmerized by me again, I must say. Even if I have to sit on the floor for that to happen.

I had thought for a while that I would just not let them touch the nosering, because I gotta say, the likelihood of it getting yanked on seems higher than I'm comfortable with, and the thought of having it yanked on is an unpleasant thought. I am less strong than a thousand pound bull. But the girls are so good with Gentle, and Careful, and One finger touching, please. I came home last night with tiny ice cream fingerprints all over my specs and my nose not aching a bit.

Tonight, Jennifer came over to eat pizza and watch a movie and knit and scheme our next project. We had a veritable brainstorm. Brought on by the tofu pizza, no doubt. Our conversation involved the phrase "Buy pants!" more often than one might think. She did not put her finger in my belly button once.

I have good, clever, funny, creative, smart, entertaining friends - who, as a bonus, live close to me, since I don't much feel like going out. I have blog readers who send me all kinds of kind notes and comments. I have not cried, not really, in two days.