I SAID Get The Funk OUT

If yesterday serves as any indication of whether the universe is listening to me, I think it just gave me the finger.

It wasn't a devastating day, mind you. As days go, it was just your run-of-the-mill disappointment. In fact, I'll amend my earlier assumption about the universe giving me the finger by saying I didn't actually SEE the universe give me the finger - but I'm pretty sure it was. At least behind its back.

Let's begin. Given Monday's encouraging world events, I set off for work feeling pretty optimistic. I had good things lined up. If all went as planned, I would make several people a little fatter and happier. This week would be simpler, perhaps healing in ways. Plus, I had time to make my own lunch - your standard tuna fish sandwich and shiny apple - and therefore would not have to squander seven dollars in some middling sub shop. All in all, looking good.

My first candidate for fatness/happiness called to cancel his appointment. I writhed in pain for several minutes, then spent several hours watching my printer chew up perfectly good pieces of paper. That's all you really need to know. The rest of the day went accordingly. My one bright spot was lunch, which provided me another opportunity to savor the feel of seven dollars remaining in my wallet.

Late afternoon meant - what else? - gymnastics practice for the Tornadoes. The timing of Tuesday practices usually allows me a few hours to go back to the office, but I decided I had had quite enough of that party for the day. Numerous errands later, I allowed myself some quiet time in my car to finish the book I'm reading - The Lost Continent by Bill Bryson. A word about my selection process: When I'm feeling the most boxed-in, I typically go for travel writing. Lately I've been battling regret that I did not take the girls on our planned road trip this summer, prudent as that decision turned out to be. This particular book details the author's road trip through 38 states after having lived abroad for several years. I'd never read Bryson before, but for some reason I had it in my head that he was the worldly intellectual type. What he is, it turns out, is incredibly snarky. I like snark as much as the next person, but I was not looking for snark. So - disappointing.

I went in to watch the rest of practice. While I almost always get to see Third Grader practice, Tuesday is typically the only night of the week that I actually get to watch Fifth Grader. This is because there is only a forty-five minute gap between when their classes end, compared to two hours on the other nights. So last night, I watched Fifth Grader for forty-five minutes. For forty-five minutes, she worked one one skill. One. It's called a "squat-on" - charming, right? - and it basically involves balancing your body at the abdomen on the lower bar, hurling your legs backwards and landing with your feet on top of the bar. Squat on. Get it? Fifth Grader somehow managed to completely dominate the attention of not one but TWO coaches who got her to try about a hundred of these in a row. She landed maybe five of them. It was heartbreaking.

(As an aside, I have to say that I LOVE their coaches. They are awesome. They're encouraging and inspiring and sometimes tough - but nobody's shooting for the Olympics here, so the girls always have a lot of fun as well. I just thought I'd mention that, lest you think I am subjecting my dear girls to involuntary torture)

The end of practice eventually arrived. Fifth Grader managed to regain feeling in her jello-y little arms by the time we dropped Third Grader off at acting class and reported to our regular Tuesday night dinner haunt. She ordered her regular roast beef sub from our regular waitress and it all felt very comforting and familiar. Which was exactly what we needed.

Third Grader, bless her heart, remained her cheerful, oblivious little self through the entire day. I suspect the universe will never give Third Grader the finger, even behind its back.

So yet again, I am declaring it a New Day. Let's see if this one takes.