The week draws to a close and I am sore. My legs ache and my tightening bum is just not as pleased with itself as I am with it. I have been doing intervals on the hill setting thanks to my new treadmill that my adorable husband put together for me a few short weeks ago. Normally, I am not a fan of treadmills. Stationary motion gets old fast but it’s not as tiring as trekking into town every day to hit the track at the fitness center.

I lost a bit of sleep this week due to achy legs and a nagging female issue that my kindly old Chinese doctor assured me on Tuesday is not potentially fatal.*

The oldest daughter, ED, is on her way to a third world country for a week’s holiday as you read this. Rob is worried. It’s a third world country, but one that nearly everyone I have contact with in my little world of The Fort has been to and come back from this winter, so there is likely nothing at all to worry about. Just another side-effect of that loss of innocence thing.

I finished the galley of that book in which I am a heavily disguised character. It was very good. It also highlighted for me a nagging career/goal issue that won’t let me alone these days. I am going to need to sit down and do a bit of 10ing soon.

Two pieces up at 50 something Mom’s. Thanks by the way to those who took time to read and comment on Tuesday’s piece. You can find Thursday’s here.

My mind is preoccupied with mutant dogs and how to bridge the gaping holes in my former short story that has morphed alarmingly into a novella. Outlining might have been helpful in this instance I am thinking.

Oh, and my stomach is giving me fits again. I am inches away from putting myself back on the blandest and most boring of diets and then totally eliminating anything that isn’t fresh. Additives and preservatives will turn me into a reluctant anorexic yet. I really hate this whole having to eat thing.

Aside from this, it’s still winter. I wish we had thought about planning a real vacation for Spring Break to somewhere warmer than we are going.** 

My massage therapist loaned me the first season of The Tudors. It’s the porn version of 16th century England, but we will need something to fill the time gap left once we finish off season three of Weeds.

There are three stages of a television series. Season one which is promising but the actors and writers are clearly still finding themselves. Season two, hitting a stride. And season three, what the fuck? This is when a show either rests on its laurels, such as they are, or they  push the envelope and it blows back in their faces like bubblegum. Weeds has followed that pretty well. Season three is not so great. 

Anyway, it’s naked history or Turner Classic Movies. We did the latter the other evening on a whim. Watched Funny Face with Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire. As we were laying on the couch, watching the scene where the two burst into dance in the meadow behind a church in the Parisian countryside, Rob turns to me and says,

“If I had been the guy they pitched this movie to, I would have told them to get the fuck out of my office.”

“What? They didn’t have you at the premise? Really beautiful, really young English girl falls for balding middle-aged American photographer?”

“He’s wearing Mr. Roger’s cardigan.”

“He dances divinely,” I countered. “And there are ducks.”

There were ducks galore in that scene. I am thinking that PETA wouldn’t have stood for that at all  – had they existed in 1956.

“Dancing and bursting into bad songs is not manly,” he said. “And I’ve lived a man’s life, so I should know.”

TCM, however, is good for laughs. We’ll see about Henry the 8th as a porn star.

*I am the least trusting patient in the universe and run to the doctor with everything, convinced I have been beset by something deadly. I don’t know that I will ever get over this but it would be nice to simply shrug and ignore like a normal person again someday.

**Family thing. Again. Three vacations on slate and only one of them non-family. I love family but dang-it I am tired of  obligations that are low on the relaxing and fun scale.