I had the kind of day where you constantly have one more (little) thing to get done.  And for a change, instead of ignoring those (little) things, I actually did them.

I changed the pee pads under the cat box (because Berta thinks using the cat box is a matter of close enough is good enough); put on my swimsuit and clothing over it; got my clean underwear to take with me to the pool; took my (handfuls) of pills; brushed my teeth; put my dirty clothes in the hamper; put my clean undies in my gym bag; gave Berta her insulin shot and gave Berta and Moose their after-shot treats (Berta because she is such a good girl about getting her shot and Moose because he’s adorable and wants them); ate my cereal; drank my coffee; took my after breakfast pills; put on a raincoat (because we had a very rainy day today); grabbed my purse and gym bag; took the outgoing mail to the mailbox and put up the little red flag; and drove to the pool; put my clothes in my locker; put my Irish Spring 5-in-1 (yes, count them, FIVE in one; obviously two better than those 3 in 1 products!) and loofa in a plastic bag for my after-pool ablutions; did my hour of water aerobics; showered, shampooed, dried off, Lume-d myself (no stank on this fat old lady); put my wet suit in a plastic bag which I then put in my gym bag; got dressed; put my towel, 5-in-1 and Lume back in the locker; locked it and drove home, where I then emptied the dishwasher.

And here’s the real kicker.

Then I baked a fucking cake. 

Box mix (I’m not that far over the edge – yet).  But I actually baked a fucking cake.

Do you know how long it has been since I’ve baked anything?  Pretty fucking long, I assure you.

I then went into the she-cave, cleared emails, read (a disappointingly mediocre Dean Koonz book), petted Berta, and took a nap. 

After which, I frosted the fucking cake.

Premade frosting – but still.

It has been a very odd, but oddly satisfying day.