Yesterday I got up extra early (OK 15 minutes early), partly because I wanted to be productive and partly because I couldn't sleep for some reason, and had already been awake for about an hour. I haven't been sleeping well at ALL this week for some reason, and hadn't practiced since Sunday's John Friend insanity, so I stumbled dterminedly into the kitchen, fully intending tobrew some coffee, which I would then drink while doing a 30 minute Yoga Glo.
Unfortunately I was out of coffee. This was unacceptable. Rather than just making tea instead, I put on my yoga pants, bundled up and walked across the alley to the gas station for a 12 oz (don't judge me - Butter was closed and the 3 blocks to Bull Run just felt too far... plus the gas station serves Peace Coffee).
Once I was back inside with my coffee, I sat down, opened up my laptop and realized that it was almost out of battery power. I could have carried the laptop AND the power-cord into my yoga room but that seemed like way too much effort, so I proceeded to sit on the couch, read news articles, and not practice yoga...which is exactly how Ben found me when he and Sid got back from their early walk.
But my body needed yoga. I knew that if I got all my work done, I could scoot out of the office in time to make Laura's 5:30 pre-choir yoga class. I became a work machine. I don't know if I've ever pounded out that many deliverables in an 8.5 hour period before, but by 4:30 I was done with everything and ready to head out the door. Unfortunately, it was raining (in December in Minnsota, no that is not normal), and rain tends to make my fellow Minnesotans completely forget that they know how to drive. I was 20 minutes late for class but I still went in...and Laura promptly had me do a drop-back.
Choir rehearsal was next on the agenda, but sometimes life has other plans. Sometimes life leaves you 8,000 missed calls from your husband (OK it was like two), two voicemails and a text message, explaining that your dog suddenly decided to have explosive diarrhea all over everything. It wasn't clear whether he could keep water down or whether he needed to go to the emergency vet, so I bailed on choir rehearsal and went home so Ben wouldn't have to deal with our exploding dog by himself.
Luckily, everything turned out just fine. Our best guess is that he either a) finally got a piece of that dead bird he's been eyeing on the sidewalk, or b) he had a little snack from Mini's litter box (YES I realize that is disgusting...but, he has done it before, although the results have never been quite this dramatic).
We both went to bed exhausted...and then I woke up again at around 4:30 to Mini trying to burrow herself into my body and purring with the approximate volume of a large power generator.
Speaking of Spazzy McGee, she is fully recovered from her surgery and back to assisting Ben with grading student papers. Hooray.
On a more serious note, though, experiences like this make me even more glad we decided to go the rescue/adoption route with our pets. It was pretty clear that being petted, given a bath and told that everything was OK is not the reaction Sid is used to after having an accident. Poor little dude. Every pet deserves love and understanding.
Well that's all - almost Friday!