Motrin is magical. The hip wasn't feeling too hot so, per the doctor's orders, I popped three 200 mg pills on a mostly empty stomach and was almost instantly pain free! God bless pharmaceutics! And, don't fret: I won't graduate to Vicodin or OxyContin...well, at least not until the other hip gives out, anyway...ahem...
Instead of going directly to the gym after work, I found myself walking into a nail salon. Now, you know how much I hate getting my nails done. At that moment, however, I didn't care about being productive or meeting deadlines or expectations. I didn't care about the myriad of ways that the universe kicks folks around. I didn't want to feel guilty about allowing myself, for once, to just sit back and be still...and I wanted sparkly nails! So, I asked my manicurist for the sparkliest shade of fun she had and she whipped out something called "La Boheme."
Ironic, I know.
I watched the trannies reclaim the block as my nails were clipped and buffered and painted; a young South Asian woman, who sat with her hands in a nail dryer, a wireless earpiece attached to her ear and an older business manager-lawyer-handler type practically at her feet, announced that she wasn't even "considering offers less than $110/hour"; I realized that the manuscript I'd wanted to read tonight, was still sitting on my desk; and just as the obnoxious woman exited the salon, I heard birds sing above the commotion of the city. It was just for a moment but I smiled.
And then, after spending a wholly unreasonable amount of time with my hands in the dryer, I went to the gym, said to hell with it and ran 7 miles.
Surprise, surprise: the day wasn't so bad, after all.