Death tag

Concussion, whiplash, rolled ankle. That's what playing tag with 4 and a half year olds gets you. I was at the playground tonight, playing tag with my daughter, her boyfriend and her boy friend (and boy, do I expect that to get complicated a ways down the road!) and her boyfriend's dad. So, I was being chased, and I was awesome. I was speedy, I dodged, I evaded, I ducked under a play structure, I zigged left . . . I caught the top of my head on the back side of a stupid plastic slide.

I have a lump. And maybe a concussion. And my neck really, really hurts.

And then, ten minutes later, when I felt almost good again, I start running away from one of the boys, and roll my ankle. Hard. I anticipate swelling.

I am a big dork.

Need I mention I had a pretty good day today? I had a period of about twenty minutes where I felt better than good. I felt like starting a new novel. I knew I could do it. I knew I could sell it. And then, well, I came back down a bit. And now? Let's just say I'll be happy if I can move my head tomorrow.

But, on the happy side, I have a cool new friend who is also getting divorced. She's moving to Burlington from Montpelier and we are going to conquer Burlington this summer.

All this means that life is pretty good right now, if you average out the physical damage and the new friend and the momentary optimism. In case you're wondering, the formula is:
friends+ optimism/60 - (days until my hair appointment+ number of sore body parts)*2=pretty good

Sometimes I miss math.