Breathing is not overrated. That is what I tell myself at times like this. You see, when I get stressed, I forget to breathe. Then I take a deep breath and it’s like, “Oh yeah, oxygen.”
When I was in the army learning how to run, and I ran into difficulties (see what I did there?), I would tell myself, “Breathing is overrated.” Eventually I learned how to run and breathe, but first I learned how far I can actually run while gasping and choking in a most unbecoming fashion. However, this is not a post about running. I would probably feel a good deal less stressed if I had taken the time for a short run or walk. However, that ship sailed, to resort to cliche (it is less of a cliche if you point out that you are using a cliche; another technique is to add the word “proverbial,”as in “that proverbial ship has sailed. Then you sound all self-aware and post-ironic) (but I digress).
Another deep breath, which I need after that last paragraph. I am working through my last-minute fluster attack before leaving for dress rehearsal for Morning’s at Seven, the play I am in at Ilion Little Theatre. I believe I have mentioned it once or twice.
After work, and a convoluted drive back to Herkimer, due to congestion and construction, I stopped at the store to get the pantyhose and underwear I mentioned earlier. I am a little worried, because the only pantyhose (they are, in fact, tights, but let us not quibble over semantics) in the color I wanted (off-white) were control top. YES, I have a top to control. However, when I attempt to do so, I experience extreme torture for very little result. What a cruel hoax shapewear is!
And look at me, 300 words and I’m not late. Yet. Happy Thursday, everyone.
I wonder if wine is overrated.
Mohawk Valley Girl 