Gonna keep doing this. I really hate it. I hate publishing rough drafts. But until I learn to give myself a break and stop annihilating everything I write before I even finish it, this is how it is.

Or until I give up.


It’s ok.

No really, It’s fine.

Don’t worry about it.

No, pardon me.

All the time. I work very hard not to inconvenience anyone. On the outside, I’m the nicest person.

But I’m so mad. All the time.

I got to spin class this morning right as class was starting. It’s been just me and about nine other people for the three months that I’ve been going to the Tuesday class. Today it was busier. I expect this in January, but not early December. But whatever, the more the merrier.

I spin in the back. I am a middle of the back row person. I am tall, I am self conscious and I don’t like to pay attention – and nothing pisses me off more than an instructor giving me personal encouragement when I am trying to get lost in my head. Which is what I do in spin class.

Today, there was a woman I had not seen before on the bike next to the one I ride. The entire back row was full of annoyingly cheerful women who all knew each other except the bike I normally use, which was open. Not ideal, but yay! As I approached, I saw a towel on the seat. Folded neatly in a square. And I said oh, is this taken? And she said Yes, I’m sorry!! but she was not. She was not sorry at all.

I almost left. Yes, really.

And I said “It’s ok!” and moved down a row and began plotting her death.

I would wait until we were in a full spin and I would leap off my bike and kick her bike as hard as I could, sending her and her friends down like sparkly dominoes, one by one, unable to stop the momentum of their wheels in time to right themselves, the last one leaning pathetically into the wall like a forgotten velvet painting of an ugly sad clown from the 1970’s.

It’s ok!

It was not ok. SO NOT OK. Did you and your posse just show up for this class on a whim? Gonna get fit, beotches? Did y’all wake up this morning and plan your outfits so you could look all matchy as for the first time you’ve set foot in a gym this year? Did it cross your fucking mind as you flounced in here this morning that maybe someone, idk who has been coming for months might like the same seat in the back row? Might always sit there, happily self absorbed and isolated, spinning happily for 45 minutes? That maybe this is the best part of her day and you and your circle of little Disney Princess wannabe’s might have just ruined it?

This is how I am. All the time. Smiling on the outside. Murder on the inside.

It’s ok!

Even when it’s stupid. When I’m the jerk. When it shouldn’t matter, but it does. I made fun of a silver sneaker class lady for hovering over the Barre spot I was vacating like she was a ghost and her body was buried there. Like Kanye West over a spotlight. Like my cat over anything that is not her litter box.

And now I’m her.

The silver sneaker lady. Not the cat.

It’s ok!

So to the next row I went. Next to the man who takes his shirt off in the middle of class, and the only reason I give a shit about him and his hairy back is because I know who he voted for. Right before the midterms he reminded all Dems to vote on November 7th. So clever! It did make the Governor’s victory that much sweeter, tho.

I adjusted my seat and pedaled up to speed and imagined running over all of  them. Pulverizing them into little piles of glitter, hair and spandex. Chasing them, screaming, through the gym, my stationary bike having magically joined the cause, while I waved a gym towel in a very threatening manner.

I realized I was smiling and pedaling faster than everyone else. It was glorious.

And I was exhausted. And not mad, just for a while.

Maybe I’m on the something.

I just really liked this one: