I really don’t want to be thankful today.
I know, that’s not normal. I freakin’ love being thankful and grateful and being all “yay to the beauty of the world!”
But today, I don’t feel normal.
I feel like, in the past 24 hours, my body has gone through some sort of Wizard of Oz: Steroid Edition excursion, and I can’t shake it. Yesterday I wrote all about how the Prednisone was giving me giggle-fests and making me do fun things like tip over naked in the bathroom and walk into oncoming traffic. Hilarious! So much fun! Drugs are the best!
Today, though, it’s full on ‘Roid Rage. I feel like I’m having a complete out-of-body experience, and as much as I keep trying to tell myself to calm down and not scream at the guy shoving his giant self onto an already over-crowded downtown train, I can’t control it. I’m frustrated. It doesn’t help that I had another sleepless, tossy-turny night, and my stomach woke me up two different times in its own fit of pissed-offedness.
However! I do proclaim myself the Queen Of Positive Thinking (Oh sorry, did I need to be officially nominated for that title? Oh well. Give it to me anyway. I’m having a crappy day.), and so I’ll jump on board my little Thankful Train, and by the end of this post I’ll be giggle-fitting again. Right?
Let’s do it!
I’m thankful for my new compression socks. My old pink ones were great, but since I’ve started feeling like I need them, rather than just “want to wear them to feel cool,” I realized they were a bit stretched out after a year of wear, tear, and wear again. I invested in new ones, and they are white, which I think is way cooler than pink.
I wore them to the gym last night, and I think people thought I was lost on my way to the indoor volleyball court. But I wasn’t. It felt good to be all compressed during a delightfully fun spin class. (I’m thankful for that, too, by the way.) I wore them home from the gym, I wore them running this morning, and I’m wearing them under my jeans at the office today. Over-use? What’s that? I’ll wash them later, totally. Promise.
I’m thankful for gym friends. Last night I was reunited with my pal CJ, who I have missed dearly since I’ve been skipping out on Wednesday night spin classes in favor of running. But last night, CJ and I returned to our old routine of foam rolling, planking and spinning, and it made me temporarily forget about the Crohn’s, the steroids, the pain in my shin and knee and the current drain on my bank account. I was just happy.
And we did some solid planking.
Plus, I had been so consumed with SoulCycle classes lately, which are great, but I forgot how fun a regular, back-to-basics spin session can be. Matt’s class last night was a straight 50-minutes (yeah, we got bonus time!) of climbing, sprinting, sweating and grunting. There were no free weights, no crazy Zumba dance moves on the bike and no double-timed-tap-backs-with-oblique-crunches-in-between. Just spinning in the dark.
I’m thankful for Tzatziki sauce. Preferably in bulk. I imagine this is why Costco exists, no? Can someone take me there? I don’t have a membership.
Tzatziki is my latest food obsession. It’s so light and refreshing and delicious, and I am newly convinced it makes everything taste better. We served it at Michaela’s baby shower this weekend with pretzel chips, I order it at restaurants with a warm pita, and you can eat it with carrots or other vegetables of your choosing. Last night I bought a bit squeezy tub of Tzatziki sauce from Fairway, which was potentially my best investment of all time and I expect it to last between two to three days before it has been completely consumed.
I put Tzatziki on my veggie burger — instead of cheese, because I am the picture of health — and I was not at all mad when the sauce dripped off the burger and onto my vegetables.
I’m thankful for the women who unabashedly read scandalous romance novels on the subway. Sometimes, I creepily peer over at what they’re reading and I giggle at the parts about “burning loins” (like on Friends). Good for you, ladies, for not being shy and bringing that bedside reading material into the public.
I’m thankful for Central Park. I preach this daily, but it really does transport me into another world. The moment I cross over Engineers’ Gate, I feel calm.
Should I have gone running this morning, what with my slightly bum left leg? Maybe not. Did I do it anyway? Yes. Am I fully to blame if I develop an all-out injury? Yes. Now that we’ve agreed on all those things, just nod along and agree with me that Central Park is a magical place.
I’m thankful my friends are willing to double as therapists. I have never been injured, or even slightly injured, or really thrown off course at all. I tend to take pretty good care of myself and, in return, my body cooperates. Clearly that hasn’t been the case lately, which is bullshit, but I’m trying my best to roll with it.
“Trying my best to roll with it” roughly translates into “Freaking the F out, snapping at loved ones and telling Emily that she will need to physically chain me to my bed to prevent me from waking up and running in the morning, despite the pain.”
I’m lucky to have runner friends in my life who understand. Many of them have been there, and many of them know just how to deal with this touch of Crazy Completely Irrational Ali.
So thank you, friends, for being moderately patient with me right now. I understand if you feel the need to block me on the GChatz because my excessive swearing and use of CAPS LOCK is a turn-off. But I’ll come around shortly.
I’m thankful for this piece of mail I received yesterday from my college roommate, Dee:
If a giant envelope addressed in marker doesn’t cheer you up, I truly don’t know what will. Maybe Tzatziki sauce.
I’m thankful my hands turned out OK. Judging from Young Ali art, we could have been in for some thumb trouble in the early years. This touching hand print, with the hand of my mom, my dad and Young Ali, could have been frame-worthy, but instead it is simply terrifying.
Thumbs are not supposed to curl.
I’m thankful that in just a few days, I’ll wake up to this every morning:
I don’t think that’s a bad bedroom view.
I’m thankful I actually packed my lunch today. OK, confession, I packed about 16 lunches. But they’re all moderately healthy and I’m excited about them. Sorry, Panera, you do not get my dollars today.
I’m thankful I’m going to be an aunt soon. My sister-in-law’s pregnancy has been going really well, and after seeing her this weekend I finally got to see that “pregnancy glow” people talk about.
She totally has it. And my brother built a crib, which makes me nervous, but hopefully Baby Feller has strong bones. Though I’m sure the screws are all in tightly, right Ryan? CAN YOU PLEASE GO DOUBLE-CHECK?
I’m thankful my modesty has taken me far in life. That’s a joke. Obviously. According to First Grade Ali Journals, I have seemingly always been a cocky little human. Example?
Yeah, teacher, I KNOW my crap is good. Don’t bother telling me. I AM AWARE.
I’m thankful for Thankful Things Thursday. There’s that modesty again! An hour ago, I was a raging bitch, and I actually contemplated swinging by Sports Authority on the way to work to invest in a metal bat that I could swing at annoying people all day. Everyone was in my way this morning. Everyone was pissing me off. I felt like I had actual steam coming out of my ears, and I came really close to throwing all my clothes in the trash in a fit of “nothing fits me because I’m steroid puffy” angst. I hate that the medicine I’m on — which is supposed to be a miracle drug or something — is making me feel like a different person. I hate that I feel like I have very little control over my emotions or my body. But writing this all did exactly what I wanted: It made me feel better.
I may even smile later. I don’t know. We’ll see.
NOW YOU DO IT, TOO: Be thankful! Tell me what you’re grateful for today. I woke up thinking I wasn’t grateful for a dang thing, and now I’m all “OMG SO MUCH TO BE PSYCHED ABOUT.” Try it!