Which is to say, I have started walking up to the tiny park, running in erratic circles, stopping to watch the rain drag in curtains over the mountains, and then going to hang off playground equipment and pretend it is exercise. I go out at the evening dog-walking hour, and have noticed that all the walkers do quick turn-abouts or trot across the street to avoid nodding hello. I am probably very intimidating. Or I look like something their dog might lunge at, like a woman with a biscuit for a face.
Am thinking about getting a fitbit. First I will find out what one is, and then I will add it to my trotting-in-circleness. Am determined to break this damn plateau, ever since I discovered a line of bruises down the side of my leg where the seam of my jeans had squeezed my thigh too tightly while I was crouching by the shelves at work. This seriously displeased me. If they’re going to try that shit, I am going to be so burly that my thighs burst out of the pants completely, shuddering with muscle in slow-motion.
It’s a plan in action.
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