The Blues

I. Am. So. Blue.

Why? Here’s the list:

1) My feet hurt, but only after extended periods of being off of them. Such as in the mornings when I wake up or … every time I get up at work, desk jockey that I am. It feels like I have no padding left in my heels. Preliminary internet searches tell me its Plantar Fasciitis. Like the geriatric I’m becoming, I bought some shoe inserts to try and soften the blow, but they don’t help when I’m limping to the bathroom every morning.

I had orthotics in middle school (Because, hey, what better time to have awkward shoe inserts than the years when you had bad hair and wore clothing from the Sears catalog? In for a penny, in for a pound!) for some reason that I don’t even remember. Maybe I should have always worn them?

Worse, I started taking walks at lunchtime with coworkers a few weeks ago and I think that’s what triggered this. I still do not regret wearing high heels in my 20s and 30s though. Not at all.

I hate feet.

2) My right elbow hurts when I extend my arm. This is probably from me carrying my bag around. I don’t know how to treat this other than use the left arm to pick up my bag or to make my bag lighter. It’s not heavy to begin with. The heaviest thing in there is my iPad. Maybe I should switch to a backpack for work for a while?

2a) My left shoulder hurts from switching to carrying the bag on my left side.

3) I’m torturing myself with thoughts on having a kid. I’m 40. Which is the new 30, I’m told. It could still happen. I guess. Maybe. Probably not.

But do I want to stick this kid with an old mother who’s falling apart as it is? (see points 1, 2, and 2a). Would a pregnancy completely drive me into the ground? Should we even try and open ourselves up (but face it, it’d be me, the owner of the dusty uterus that would feel the failure more) to that brand of disappointment or do we continue along with the happy life we have now. And it’s very happy as is.

But there is no more tabling this decision. I either have to baseball slide beneath the garage door as it’s 18 inches above ground and closing or decidedly turn around and walk away from that door forever. And hope I get far enough away from the door in time that the final SLAM is barely heard.

And does the fact that I’m entertaining the thought of walking way mean that I don’t want a kid enough to be a good parent? AAAH!

I feel olllllld. And so saaaaad. And now I’m whiiiiiiiiining on my bloooooogggg. UUUUUGH.

But I never regret blogging about my down spells. It makes the blog — my diary — more real. And this too will pass. And if future kid finds this…I thought HARD about having you! You were no accident! I’m sorry I’m decrepit!

In the meantime, here is a video of a dog on a trampoline to cheer you back up.