A mere 18 degrees this morning. And it's absolutely fine with me. Helps me believe that maybe the world won't end in a horrible ecological disaster quite as soon as I'd feared. It's winter. It's supposed to be cold. We're under a winter storm advisory, which doesn't seem to mean much of anything. There's some frozen substance falling from the sky but I'm not sure how much damage it'll do. We've had an inch or so of snow on the ground for a few days now and I must say, I like the way it looks. Of course it helps that I'm able to curl up on the couch in my pajamas, a warm blanky over me and do my work without ever setting foot outside - although I will have to go out eventually, I suppose. We live four or so blocks from the YMCA and yesterday - when the wind chill made it "feel" 9 degrees out - I nearly froze my face off walking there. That said, our Y is brand-spankin' new and they have these big windows on the cardio floor and on one side of the track that let you gaze out upon Ann Arbor and when the snow is coming down in big, fluffy flakes as it did a few days ago, it's awfully pretty to watch while you get your heart rate up.
Speaking of the Y, I think I'm probably going to quit Curves this week. Since we joined the former, I've been only once or twice to the latter. The Y is closer and less routine to me at this point than Curves and it helps immensely that Chris and I usually go to work out at the same time, so I've extra motivation. Not that I'm slaggin' Curves. I think it's a fantastic idea for a lot of people and it was great for getting me back to exercising regularly. I just think maybe it's served its purpose for me right now and I probably don't need to be paying two gym memberships a month.
I'm not sure I'll make it to any of my many gyms today, though. I'm pretty low energy, as the cats organized a parade this morning. It started at about 5:30 and the route, apparently, consisted of my head and Chris' groin. I don't know what's up with them. Allie was recently diagnosed with diabetes, so we have to give him insulin shots two times a day which, even for someone who liked medical experiments as much as I do, isn't that much fun.
In addition, the vet has switched him to a new kind of soft food which he likes more than his old food. Which I didn't think was actually possible. It's hard to explain to a cat why he can't eat every 15 minutes. Especially when you're busy stuffing your own face with a handful of potato chips. You should see the looks of disgust he gives me. How do cats even know what hypocrisy is?
And Punkin' (I Didn't Name Her) Kitty also got switched to this new kind of lower-carb food which she enjoys well enough, but only in small portions. Of course, we can't leave the bowl down or Allie will scarf it all up. So this becomes a delicately coordinated dance of feed-n-distract, feed-n-distract. It's exhausting and, apparently, depriving me of much-needed beauty-and-serenity sleep.
It'd be much easier if we just killed cats as they got older.
KIDDING! Sort of.
Jesus. I've actually become a person who writes on her blog about her cats. Clearly, if anyone needs to be killed, it's me. Just promise that if I ever blog AS one of my cats, you'll take me to the nearest vet and put me out of my misery.