Why does my anxiety have to come in the form of unrelenting diarrhea?

This might be the last post I ever write because I feel like I'm about to DIE.  Not die so much, that might be overstating, but I feel like I could have anxiety induced diarrhea for about three hours.  Not quite so glamorous as dying beautifully with my hand on my forehead and a forlorn feminine moan.

Tomorrow I am going on a much-anticipated trip to Washington DC with my two wonderful sisters, and because I've been so busy with work and life in general; I forgot that I am getting worse and worse when it comes to taking off and landing in planes.  I am right this very moment at the public library with one of my classes (have I mentioned that I LOVE MY JOB) and I got an email from Delta telling me, "It's time to check in!" and almost immediately my stomach rumbled and I remembered, "Oh yeah, I hate flying."

Actually I don't mind the flying, it's only the two minutes it takes to get off the ground, and the ten minutes it takes to land.  On one of my recent trips we flew through some bad weather on the descent to the airport and did a free fall for what felt like two miles.  When we were exiting the plane I saw the pilot and he looked all sweaty and nervous.  Holy crap.  And a few months ago I saw the movie Flight with Denzel Washington. In it he is a drunken pilot and the plane breaks in mid-air and he has to do some quick, alcohol-induced thinking and fly the plane UPSIDE DOWN in order to land.  I think I would rather just die.  And won't it be ironic now if I do.  No, that's not irony, stupid.  

The Mystery

I started the day off laughing my head off because of one of my coworkers.  I saw her in the lobby shooing kids up the elevator to school and I stopped to chat with her.  Let me first say that she is a beautiful woman; youthful, in shape, open, and just generally a very positive person to be around which is why this conversation was so weird and funny. Here is our exchange:

Me:  Good morning!  How are you today?
Her:  Hi!  Better than I was yesterday.
Me:  Oh?  Why is that?
Her:  When you're 51 you never know what your day will be like.
Me:  (laughing)
Her:  I'm not kidding.  It's worse than you think.
Me:  Well, I guess that is something I have to look forward to.
Her:  It's worse than pregnancy.
Me:  (no longer laughing)  .... oh.  I hated pregnancy.
Her:  Yeah, it's worse than that.  Someone should tell you the truth.  It's worse than you think.
Me:  Shit.

I still don't know exactly what we were talking about, but I'm really not looking forward to it.  

Kira's Art

MILF

I got hit on today.  I was putting money in a parking meter and there were a couple guys sitting at an outside table at a sports bar.  I dropped my keys and one of them said, "Hey lady, you dropped your keys."

Oh yeah.... I've still got it.

Just kidding.  Actually that really happened but that's not the end of the story.  After I picked up my keys he said, "Hey bright eyes, how about getting a drink with us?"  I looked behind me because he couldn't have meant me in my cardigan sweater, sensible shoes, and the 2013 version of a station wagon, could he?  I looked behind me and then back and he said, "Yeah you!"  I said, "Are you buying?"  He said, "Yeah, Come on, I'll buy you a drink!" I said, "Thanks, but no thanks, I'm still on the clock" (it was right after school and I was about to go supervise an after-school group).  And then he said, "......Bitch."  Like the fact that I was still working was some comment on the fact that he was at a bar at 3:30 on a Monday.

It was the first time I've been hit on in about a decade.  It was a stormy, exciting, passionate 30 second relationship. But ultimately we were no good for each other: him always wanting to throw caution to the wind and have fun, and me always telling him to get off his ass and get a job.

Trees are bastards

Remember this post when I wrote that I got maimed by a tree while mowing the lawn?  Well, I got a comment on that post from someone named "Tree Nursery," who I strongly suspect is a tree.  

I am so glad you "cherished" my horrible story of abuse-by-tree, you sick bastard.  I've got two words for you:  FIRE WOOD.