Bellydancing update! We were experimenting with squeezing only one glute, independently of the other. I have an easier time with the left, which is I guess unusual. So I’m right-handed, but left-assed. Just keeping you people abreast of important things in my life.
Kickboxing! Gerald had me aside and asked if I wanted to be a “person who takes kickboxing” or a “fighter”. It would have been pretty funny to say, “Yeah, I just wanna be a schmo who takes kickboxing”, but I figured I should go with the fighter option. So I learnt how to throw a really badass punch, and spent so much time concentrating on the muscles from my toes, knees, hips, shoulders, all of it, I was goddamned forgetting how to curl my goddamned fingers. My point is, my thumb hurts, but that’s OK because I’m getting badass-er.
I ate an apple yesterday, and I think a piece is, like, lodged down at the bottom of my esophagus. I have no idea what to do about it, but it hurts! I keep eating other things, in hopes they’ll move it, but to no avail.
This reminds me of a delightful story from my delightful childhood, which you’ll damn well be delighted to hear. I was born with a thyroglossal duct cyst, and when I was three I had to go to the hospital to have surgery to get it removed. I asked my dear mommy why I had to go to the hospital, and, being a good nurse, she explained to my three-year-old-self that before babies are born, they have a piece of tissue that goes down their throat to make their thyroid, and when they’re born it’s supposed to disappear, but mine didn’t disappear, so the doctors have to take it out or it could lead to infections. And my little three-year-old-self was all, “… what?” So my dad said, “Honey, you know those apple slices with peanut butter you like to eat? Well, one of those apple slices is stuck in your throat, so the doctors have to take it out!” And I was all, “Like Snow White!” And Dad was all, “Exactly like Snow White.”
Anyway, I would not lie to you, I believed the apple thing until I was, like, sixteen. I’m really not an idiot, it was just a matter of never thinking very hard about it. I would occasionally look at the scar on my neck, and be, like, “Oh yeah, the apple thing”, and then not think about it past that, until one day my mother was all, “What fucking apple? Thyroglossal duct cyst.” There’s an important lesson in there about challenging assumptions, but I don’t actually care.