(clipped and added to from the lj)
Yoga class was particularly difficult, focussing more on downward dog than any I've done before. Ten minutes in that pose is very hard on the wrists, especially when you haven't got it quite right.
All the girls at work followed enthusiastically in Lynn and I's urgent (urging) footsteps, up the great stairs, into a great domed room.
My wrists hurt. My biceps are burning. The rest of my body is flowing with wild energy, while all the girls are sitting dazed at their desks I'm hopping up and down and up and down, singing, typing, working, turning pages like wind.
I have this immense urge to run in circles, flipping over chairs, regardless of who is sitting in them. I want to run out to the parking lot and turn over cars, rotating them over their bumpers, hulk-style.
I feel so powerful.
That was fun.
And lunch was just right, too -- ten different vegetables with a touch of chicken atop. The thai place next door has a secret menu-item just for me, we call it number 47-b. Tofu with vegetables minus the rice with extra vegetables minus the tofu with extra grilled chicken. That's how she punches it in every time.
Then the boss walks by with four boxes of crispy cream thingies.
Which he bought for me. Because I once asked what they were. Because I haven't partaken of the Friday doughnuts since February. Because he likes to see my hyper, excited, out to change the universe starting with his problem projects.
I took a bite of one in front of him, chewed, grinned, thanked him profusely for contributing to my american education, and downed a litre of water after it.
Thems things just feel so wrong in your mouth, ya know? Like an oil sick with the car-wreck already hurtling towards your duodenum.
But he really is a sweetheart.
And I really am hyperactive, even without the sugar.
So about them flippin' cars... *ahem*