Normal

I am not normal.

That’s as good an introduction as you’re gonna get, and the people who know and love me best will tell you it’s the truth. There’s hundreds of stories I could tell you, but I’ll just start by telling you what happened this week instead.
(My girlfriends could tell you stories, too, but I hope they will keep their mouths shut, for the most part.)

“Normal” women like going to the mall to shop.

I get to the mall, and it sucks the life, and what little energy I might’ve had left, right out of me. My legs turn to mush, and walking becomes an act of my will.

Stephen and I met at the mall a few days ago. After five minutes, I surrendered to my abnormality, and begged to sit down. We went to grab a bite to eat, and then I took a nap on his shouler, instead of going shopping.

Then yesterday I ended up at the mall again, somehow. Actually, I went because I love my daughter and she needed some “pre-wrap” from Claire’s and had some money burning a hole in her pocket. (Don’t worry, I didn’t know what pre-wrap was either). By the time she was finished shopping and ready to go I was dragging myself out of there just wishing to be horizontal, or better yet, shot, and put out of my misery.