Finally, signs of winter arrive
I take these pseudo-spiritual spinning classes with my older daughter. I tell myself it’s good: Good exercise. Good for my mental health. And most importantly, a good way to spend time together that doesn’t involve fighting.
But it’s really a night club scene – with liberal amounts of tight spandex. We mount stationary bikes in the dark and jerk our bodies around in time to loud foul music. Unsatiated sexual innuendo hangs in the heavy hot air. I almost never follow the instructions to lurch up and down and back and forth, and I still feel gross and nauseated by the end.
I’m not sure if I’m doing it to improve relations with my daughter or to relive my early 20s. Both reasons have faulty logic and questionable results.
Yet we have a reservation today at 3 pm.
Because work isn’t interesting enough, we have to make up an acronym for everything at the office. Today’s was the POT line ….. which made me think of everything else except what it really meant : Plain Ol’ Telephone line.
Did I mention my employer took our phones away and we now rely entirely on the internet to connect us to the world ? And I’m learning how much hostility I actually have toward the World Wide Web?
Probably a few crisis hotline sessions in there somewhere….. if only I had a phone.