I just stood. For a solid two minutes. Outside of my apartment building. Just…waiting for someone to come open the door.
These mother fuckers be running in and out of this building all hours of the day and night. But when I need one of them to come open the door. Suddenly they all wanna stay they asses inside.
Where the fuck are all the smokers when I need them???
The problem is. The door on the main side of the building. The side I always enter from. It sticks. A lot. So you have to really put some force into opening it.
Normally I can. I can do that.
I’m pretty strong.
But tonight…was PlayFITStayFIT arm day.
I won’t bore you with rep counts and exercises. Mostly because it’s a blur.
And I really shouldn’t have been there. Because I’m still not fit for public consumption.
But that level of physical abuse is about the only thing putting my pouty ass in a liveable mood these days. And keeping me from getting fired.
And my PFSF people put up with me.
Even the really super sweet ones that shouldn’t have to.
So I went. And did the things. And I am not even exaggerating when I tell you that I have no feeling in my arms. No sensation whatsoever. I currently have my phone kind of resting against my legs while I let my thumbs figure out how to type.
Went to the grocery store on my way home. From PlayFITStayFIT arm day. Because food.
And while in said grocery store. I knocked half of aisle three onto the floor.
Just…spaghetti and shit everywhere.
Dude in the aisle with me actually apologized.
I’m not sure why…
No no. That was all me. And my inability to control my arms. After arm day.
He apologized again.
No no. Really. That was also all me. And my inability to make good choices. After leg day.
And then we went about just quietly picking boxes up off the floor. And placing them awkwardly back onto the shelves.
If I were a different person. Living a different life. It might’ve been a solid meet cute. The start to one of those cheesy Hallmark movies.
But I’m me.
Living my very same life I’ve always lived.
So instead we just…continued with our shopping. Like nothing had happened.
Like I wasn’t just awkwardly half-dragging my shopping basket around with two limp arms and randomly knocking the basket into shit.
Everything’s totally normal.
And one might think that that was enough embarrassment. For one shopping trip.
But I’m me.
And they put the canned cat food in the same aisle as the cleaning supplies. And my apartment is disgusting. Because ain’t a damn person in education trying to clean shit right now. But at least let me buy some supplies to make it look like I might clean. Like I have the intention of cleaning. Should anyone ever actually visit my apartment.
I mean, obviously not aisle three dude. But whatever. Someone might.
And so anyway. Cans of cat food don’t just fall to the floor when you bump them. With the shopping basket. That you can’t control. Because PlayFITStayFIT arm day.
No. Those bitches. They clatter. Loudly. And bounce. Repeatedly. And roll. Far. So that you have to chase them down. On barely working legs. Because PlayFITStayFIT leg day.
And they don’t just go one or two at a time. It’s like they see one of their boys go flying off the shelf and it’s a sudden rager and everyone’s throwing themselves into the mix.
No one was there to apologize that time. But they damn sure walked past. With their judgy looks. As I’m crouched down on the floor of the Walmarts just trying to kind of dead lift my basket of food back up off the floor. After chasing 50 cans of Friskies around the store.
I’m doing the best I can!
Had washing my hair on the schedule for tomorrow morning.
We’re just gonna go ahead and cross that one off of the schedule.
I did make it inside. To my apartment. By the way.
After walking all the way around the building. To the side with the 5,000 foot climb. To get to the door that opens easily.
And my legs are still pissy from yesterday.
So that shit wasn’t pleasant.
And obviously I’m still a raging b-word right now. Because why am I still doing truancy shit with two weeks left in school. While testing kids on shit they shouldn’t have to be tested on during a pandemic. And it hurts to sit. And stand. And walk. And move. And exist.
And my nose itches. But I can’t lift my hand up to scratch it. So I’m forced to rub my face back and forth on the back of the couch…
Just…all kinds of classy.
So…yeah, y’all probably just shouldn’t visit me.
Which means I went through that cleaning/cat food aisle drama for no reason.