Today (yesterday, technically, but this will post after midnight) was the Day Without a Woman strike event, and since I’m on break, I decided to strike from obligation and running errands. I also chose to engage in radical self-care, which meant doing stuff for myself without thinking for one minute about anybody else. (This included staying off social media for my own sanity.) I had planned to go to a local event, but I had already given my daughter permission to use the car and then I fell asleep before my friend got back to me about giving me a ride (and it turned out I had the wrong number anyway).
This morning, I went to the gym, and the water aerobics instructor is getting over a cold, so her voice was pretty low and she said talking was kind of hard for her–especially the projecting she usually does to teach the class. So, since all of us were regulars, we all took turns describing each of the motions we were doing, using the terms and language she usually does. Sometimes we would also add in our own little tidbits (e.g., one woman shouting “Don’t be a wimp!” when we were doing triceps).
The instructor said it was one of the best classes she ever had, and she was so glad we were there that day. She was especially pleased to know that we actually listened to her when she talked. She did say, though, that she was very happy she couldn’t hear what we were thinking during class given some of the ad libs we threw in.
Traveling to the march this past weekend put me behind on everything. Sigh.
First things first, though: I didn’t make it to the actual march because on the way there, about two hours outside of DC, I got sick and knew I wouldn’t be able to handle the walking or the crowds.
However, I still had a positive experience because of all the awesome women in my life, most notably my friend Monique who was willing to brave traffic, etc. to pick me up from RFK at 7:30 a.m. when I told her what was going on and also a woman named Crystal on our bus who supplied me with Dramamine and anti-nausea meds when I got motion sickness on the bus ride home (before I knew her name, even!).
And, yes, that means I got sick on the way there AND the way back.
Anyway, the best sign I saw this weekend was black text on a white background that said, “NOPE.”
I’m supposed to be writing up my yearly self-evaluation, so now seems as good time as any to write a blog post.
1. I continue to be in love with The Good Place. Jason Mendoza is the dumbest person alive (well, dead), and I may love him for it. Also, he died in the most Florida Man way possible. I mean, seriously. I can see the headline (highlight to read because spoilers): Florida Man Suffocates to Death in Failed Robbery Attempt. I laughed, but also: Jason. Seriously.