Combine a hissy fit with a fit of pique and what do you get? A full-blown tantrum, that’s what. And in a 58 year old woman whose emotional temperature is generally so cheerful as to be annoying, it was not a pretty sight.
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Fit of pique. Four in one day: a record. A fit of pique differs from a hissy fit in that wounded pride is the proximal cause.
I sulled like an old possum. I clomped around the house muttering dark oaths and curses. Poor Buck and Maggie gave me wide berth. I lay down on the floor, arms over my head, and stared at the ceiling, questioning almost everything I thought I knew. I huffed. I puffed.
Finally, I got up, splashed cold water on my face, pulled a sock and then a jogging shoe on my left foot and headed out to the garage.
I found that, while I can’t walk the woods or treadmill for a month, I can use the old Schwinn Air-Dyne exercise bike with the movable arms, prop my right foot up on a metal rung, and get a pretty decent workout.
Next, I pulled on my old weight-lifting gloves and found there are many moves I can safely make on the weight bench without affecting my foot. I’ve been using advancing osteoarthritis in my hands as an excuse to avoid weights for awhile, but you know what? They feel better today, despite, or perhaps because of, yesterday afternoon’s workout.
Finally, last night before bed, tired of sulking and swearing “I’ll never write another word,” I went into the study, unplugged the old laptop I keep in there and put it in a cabinet, cleared off all the extraneous reading material on top of the desk, dusted the surface, rearranged the lamp so it casts light instead of shadow, and put the three short stories I am working on in a neat stack to the left and a fresh legal pad and pen in the middle, turned off the light and went to greet Buck and Maggie in the boudoir.
I gave them both the “all clear” signal and we shared a group hug.