Upon showing Jody this photo of Tenzing… Jody: "Your cats are sluts." Me: "I know."

Suddenly I have a plethora of good news and I hardly know where to begin. It's such a rare and lovely situation; forgive me for wanting to sit back and sip it slowly, single-malt style.

The good news is that I have a trainer again. The better news is that it's the trainer I've wanted all along: yes, I'm working with Val again. Her life has calmed down enough that she has time to add back a few clients, and that calmness coincided with my decision to toss her a why-not email to see if maybe she'd still have time for me.

My list for today:

Go out to lunch on a Sunday. Comment on the busy-ness that always comes with August, and the pre-dragon*con preparations. Stop by the grocery store to pick up random food bits we need. Come home and find this:

(Click on the photos to get a larger version.)

There's a rule in life. I know this rule, and I broke this rule, and now I'm paying for it. Never, ever say, "I'm having a good week," no matter how true the statement is. The cosmos has ears, and it doesn't take well to being taunted.

(Sigh.)

So, a complete recap of the weekend: swim a quarter-mile for the first time, fit into size 14 jeans for the first time in a decade, get mauled by skittish seventeen-pound cat.

Top of left arm:

Ages ago, Suzan said to me that the number sixteen was magic, and so far, I'm inclined to agree. For women, dropping back down into the sixteen-and-under range brings you back into the land of the living, the normal, the everyday.Sometimes, what's utterly normal and everyday for the rest of the world is terrifying and magical and scary for me.