I wrote this post last night after getting home from the gym, but then I forgot to hit the publish button.  

Since I could not drag my sorry ass out of bed on time this morning, I made an alternative plan to go to the gym tonight instead. It’s an unusual enough of an occurrence to warrant its own post.

I figured, at least since I am going in the evenings, I would not cross paths with the weirdo member who races around the group fitness room barefoot. And thankfully I didn’t. But apparently I am still sensitive enough to the change in atmosphere to be bothered by the different vibe of a Friday evening. Or maybe it’s just the day’s food digesting that made me feel weird about the experience. Or both. Nothing really wrong, no one bothered me, but I was upstairs doing Monday’s new leg routine and it just seemed off kilter to me.

Because I am such a creature of habit, this was outside my comfort zone. And I was not particularly enamored with it. And for the first time in months, thoughts of disconnecting from my routines drifted through my head. I recognize it for what it is – a flare-up of my gym crazy – and I also know that returning to my roots of my regular practice schedule will cure me of such thinking and feelings. There is a tiny bit of disappointment, though, because I thought for sure I was past all that by now. Apparently not.

Since I was upstairs anyway, I had an opportunity to read J’s trainer bio posted on the wall. This many months of training and practice and this is the first time I have actually stopped and read what it says. I actually think he may have written it himself, because it sounds just like him when we first met and started working together. Seems like another lifetime ago right now.

Earlier today I had numerous telephone calls with friend J, having a social event crisis back east. Seems one of his best gym buddies and his wife are expecting their first child and having a coed baby shower this weekend. Friend J was in Babies R Us looking for a gift and called me seeking advice. I said, are they registered? Yes, but everything is checked off the registry. Okay, how about a gift card? He does not want to get a gift card this time; he wants to buy an actual gift. Okay, how about some diapers and a gift card? Diapers are good – what’s the best brand? Me, putting phone away from my ear and frowning at it, then putting it back to my ear and reminding him that G will be 30 next year, and while I myself may seem pretty damn ageless, it’s been quite a few years since I utilized disposable diapers. Friend J starts reading labels to me of the various brands. Is the most expensive one the best, he asks? Deep breath, I ask him if there is anyone else shopping in the store? Yes, he says, a couple of ladies with babies. I suggest he ask one of them which brand they use, because they will have a preference. But they’ll think I’m weird, he says, or worse. Turn on the charm, I say; tell them you are a terminal bachelor, never going to be a father yourself, and throw yourself on their mercy and beg, nicely, for their assistance. They will be unable to resist and want to adopt him. As an immediate afterthought, I ask him to have them take a photo of him with the diapers and send it to me. Friend J, terminally childless friend J, in a Babies R Us buying diapers, probably for the first time in his entire life. PRICELESS!

Needless to say, he was not amused by my request.

An hour later there is a text. Diapers purchased. Employee wrapped them for him, even put the fancy tissue in the gift bag. But he still did not want to get them a gift card for shopping, because new baby, shopping seems like the last thing they want to do. What else should he get?

Rather than banging my head against the desk, I had had an hour to think about this secondary inquiry, because I knew it was coming and was ready with an answer. Meal delivery services – surely they have them in your area? A gift card for that would be wonderful for brand new, sleep deprived parents.

I am a genius, he says, and another half hour passes before he texts me yet again to say he has secured the gift card for a meal delivery service of 2 weeks of dinners where they can pick what they want on the internet and order it, have it delivered, and then just heat the entree in the microwave. Perfect, I agree. But of course, he will be lapping up the kudos tomorrow at this baby shower, and I’m absolute fine with that; I have built an entire career on making other people look good. Thankfully the disquieting impact of discussing baby shower gifts with my child-free friend was finally over.

And finally, dealing with Kaiser and their crazy scheduling protocol is shortening my life. Maybe that’s how they keep their insurance more affordable – they drive their members so insane they stop trying to utilize services.

After 5 phone calls and 2 messages to and 3 replies from my doctor, I finally got a supervisor and myself scheduled next Thursday for my biopsies. They did offer me sooner appointments, but for goodness sakes, if I go at 8:45 in the morning I am like done for the balance of the day. I would like to be somewhat productive, so I really wanted a late, later, latest afternoon appointment. Best I could do was 3:10 on Thursday, so I took it. I would have vastly preferred 4:10, but I guess they do not schedule that late. But the way things have gone thus far, I will not be surprised to be still waiting in the ugly gown at 4:10.

There are worse things, I’m sure. At least I have that off my to-do and onto my calendar. M starts to tell me he has something else planned that day, but hastened to assure me that he would cancel or reschedule, because it is recommended that I have a driver. The marital death glare is a thing; M does not see it often, but he is a smart guy and knows it when he feels it.


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