Well, isn’t this just a kick in the head? I’m not even sure how it happened, but I’ve become someone who, when facing down a seriously mean and crabby attitude, looks over her options (liquor, chocolate, running far, far away from home…) and spontaneously decides, “I need to run ’til I want to puke.”

Oh, believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are.

When I am crabby and here I mean just low-down, squinty-eyed and vile, there is nothing that I want to do more than lace up my sneakers, load up some alternative music from back when…well, back when 40 year-old women weren’t listening to it on their ipods and commit serious treadmill violence. Grrrrrr……

There are, of course, perfect songs for these times. Number one; Ben Folds Five, “One Angry Dwarf and Two Hundred Solemn Faces.” Perfect, due to the fact that the chorus mainly consists of the words, “Kiss my ass” which is good for, like, fifty angry fist pumps per mile. Still pissy? Try “So What?” by Pink. “…So, so what?/ I’m still a rock star/I got my rock moves/and I don’t need you…” Yeah! Rock stars! You and me, Pink…well, you anyways. Still, I’m feeling better, so now I might listen to “Wild, Wild West” by Will Smith, mostly because he’s so pretty and I like to pretend he’s my boyfriend which always puts me in a better mood (especially if dear hubby is the reason I’m on the treadmill in the first place). Healing hasn’t really begun, however, until I’m ready for some serious reassurance from Ok Go; “…You know you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down/no you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down…this too shall pass…” (Let me just say, I know that their Rube Goldberg video for “This Too Shall Pass” was all the rage a few months ago, but I prefer the marching band version. Trust me, if you ever trudged through even a semester in marching band it is the best, most hilariously surprising thing. Check it out, here.)

So that’s it…crabby to delightful and it usually only takes four miles…six on the outside. At the very least, I’m too tired and out of breath to wreck havoc on the object of my frustration, so the only thing that takes a beating is my treadmill motor. God bless it.

Oh, and fyi? I AM a rock star…. a sometimes crabby, crabby rock star.
The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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