May 1st, 2011. CD2.
I had Mountain Dew, Midol, and a bag of Baked Lays for dinner last night. Went to bed way too late after watching hours of DVR-ed soaps. Slept like absolute crap. Awakened from a dim sleep by cramping which rendered me immobile. Took more Midol. Curled up in the fetal position, wide awake and in pain, catching up on Tweets on my phone for about an hour before I felt I could get out of bed.
Opened the bedroom door to find both cats staring at me. Continued further into the house to find that they’d broken into the hall closet, somehow slicing open the bag of chicken jerky dog treats, and leaving a comically long trail of said treats throughout the house. The dog was more amused by this than was I.
I didn’t even bother temping this morning because I was fairly certain the thermometer would beep and then say, “Whoa bitch, you’re a hot mess.”
On a lighter note, today is May Day.
I don’t actually know where this tradition originated, or if any of you also celebrate it, but it’s been in our family as long as I can remember. Back in the Enchanted Forest where I grew up, we celebrated May Day by frolicking through the fields early in the morning, picking baskets of wild flowers, and then leaving them anonymously on our neighbors’ doorsteps as a May Day surprise. It was a sweet tradition that my grandma and mom passed along to us that I someday hope to pass along to my children.
Hopefully by the time I have children, we will live closer to a forest with neighbors we know. Since we are currently living in the Big City, and you can get arrested for picking the flowers, I celebrated May Day by going to the local grocery store and buying myself some roses from the floral kiosk that’s wedged in between the banana stand and the rotisserie chicken warmer. I’m afraid of most of our neighbors, and figure that if they left the house to find flowers on their stoop, they’d probably just call the police.
So I just kept them for myself.
Happy freakin’ May Day. Grandma would be proud.