Blur

I think I missed posting yesterday for the first time in years. That's an appropriately blurry picture above of Oliver at a place called Sky High which I drove to yesterday morning in the far reaches of the southland. It's a warehouse with about a thousand places to jump on trampolines and into ball pits, and it smells like disinfectant and would probably otherwise be a nightmarish place of children, germs, athletic people and bad music, but since it was a Monday morning, it was completely empty and Oliver ran around by himself for nearly two hours. Four or five tiny children with beleaguered parents trailing them jumped up and down on the trampolines, and at one point a young couple came in together and exercised which made me feel guilty for one tiny moment that I wasn't doing the same, but I recovered in the next moment and continued reading The Goldfinch in my Shiatsu massage chair. I periodically responded to Oliver's requests to watch him, and periodically wondered about the vast differences in people (namely, how an exercise date at a gigantic trampoline place is appealing to anyone), and continued to bury my head in the book, grateful that I don't have to attract anyone based on my love of exercise or be subject to a person who would suggest it as a fun thing to do.

Anyhoo.

I didn't post yesterday because I had no original thoughts, drove approximately 524 miles back and forth into the valley and beyond with the trip to Sky High and then Henry's school and then back to Henry's school for his baseball tryouts, with a trip to the mall and some unbloggable events that left me breathing deeply in my head, a cheerful smile on my face as I bantered with The Brothers and made them dinner, a Golden Globish performance, best actor for comedy and drama. Smoking hot, and not from exercise of any kind whatsoever.