Under my skin

Lately the crazies have been less than kind to me, instead of remaing a respectful 7-9 feet away they've been all up in my grill -crawling under my skin, pulling on my hair, snuggling in my ear-wells. They're clever little fuckers and will take any opportunity to get their claws into my soul. They have been so bold that even red wine, a crazy inhibitor if ever there was one, doesn't even phase them. In fact, I believe they've developed quite a liking for a hearty Cabernet. Bastards.

There are many people/places where I'd like to lay the blame for my current state: the kids, the kids being out of school for the summer, my job, my weight, Matt's health, my crazy ex-in-laws. The truth is that I'm neurotic, high strung and lean towards the obsessive side of things. The crazies love that in a gal and I'm beginning to suspect that's why they love me something fierce.

One of the healthier ways in which I deal with it all is exercise. Being forced to breathe in and out because my heart is screaming from exertion is a good thing and often silences the noises in my head. However, I guess a large part of New Mexico is burning and so the pristine Rockies of Western Colorado look like most days in Salt Lake City. I could have been going to yoga, but with Groovy Yoga Dude chanting his Ohms and the crazies clacking their nails on my brain, I can't find any fucking peace in class. So I've been spending a large part of the evenings curled up in a ball and hoping the children don't notice my rocking back and forth while I silently weep here and there.

Last night I had the lovely fortune of dining with Matt and while I watched him prepare the food some sort of stardust must have fallen upon my head and I decided I would go swim laps in the morning. Matt came swimming with me one morning last week before work and it was such a great way to start the day. This time I invited my mom and we left the house at 7 in order to be there at 7:30 for opening time. We reached the pass counter at 7:27 only to find the line already full up with a group of sassy old women in skirted suits and flowered caps, one might call them old broads if one were to be so bold. Apparently this is a group that meets most mornings, women on one side raring to get in and the old dudes on the other side with their canes and thick glasses. The women were croaking out remarks like, Have you seen Eunice? Another replied, Nah, she usually stomps in at about 7:50. She ain't gettin' a good lane today! Right then I knew I was afraid of these women and I chose to line up behind them old dudes and chance the possibility of tripping over their canes.

My mom and I managed to get a lane, the water was calm and the sun just starting to warm the day. I started in, planning on doing about 30 lengths but kept going until I reached 52, one mile. My mom swam hers and then sat in the hot pool while I finished. I love swimming, the rhythm, the silence of the water, the constant motion. Plus, everybody who has any sort of sense knows that the crazies hate water more than they hate Ativan. They hate it so much that they've stayed away all day, just sort of sulking in the distance -probably waiting for a weak moment when they can return. Heartless bastards.