Is Exercising Too Much To Ask? Apparently The Answer Is Yes

Despite being plus size and proud, the effects of aging have started me questioning just how plus size I can be.  I.E., high blood pressure and a right knee that hurts like a bitch. (Luxating patella, if you must know. It's a condition that Yorkshire Terriers and other small dogs are prone to.  Yay me.) 

I decided to stop putting off exercise and go swimming at the Y my husband belongs to.  I bundled swimsuit, shampoo/conditioner and body wash, and headed out and realized: fuck. I don't have a padlock. 

Into the hardware store for a padlock with keys.  

I get to the Y, go to the elevators--the pools and Aquatic office are on the 2nd floor.  The 2nd floor is mostly other non-profits, so I ask several people where the Aquatic office is.  I find it, and am sat down until the guy is found.  I'm in the wrong place; the women's dressing room has been moved to the 3rd floor.  I get on the elevator, and find the 3rd floor button is covered up. 

So I go to the 4th floor, which is the gym proper, and wander around asking people how to get to the third floor. Because no one on that floor is in their offices.  Nobody knows.  Finally one guy says to take the elevator on the left.  I do, but the button doesn't light, and I end up on the 2nd floor again. I am righteously pissed.  After procrastinating for months, I finally get my shit together, and I CAN'T get to the damn pool!  

So, back in the elevator up to the 4th floor.  I walked down stairs to the 3rd floor, no entry, knocked repeatedly.  Crickets.  So I go back up and find another flight of stairs.  No entry.  I pound on the door as hard as I can.  Crickets.  I am starting to think this was a seriously bad decision.  

What chlorinated hell is this?

 I go back up, scout the floor, and find a stairs that don't look like fire stairs!  They're steps to the third floor!  Yay! THE THIRD FLOOR MEN'S DRESSING ROOM. 

As old guys scuttle to cover up, a security person escorts me out.  I'm almost in tears, telling him I am just trying to get to the goddamn womens' dressing room.  First I go to the towel desk, get two fresh towels, find a locker, etc.  But I can't open the package the lock is in. 

Back to the towel desk, ask for a pair of scissors, cut open the package, go down, get everything arranged, in my bathing suit and two towels, find the door to the pool-!  

Go to the pool to see a sign that you have to wear a bathing cap.  Shit.  There are these blue elastic headthings, but for some reason the one I pick doesn't fit, and I look and it says: Shoe Covers. 

Back to the towel desk, ask can I buy a swim cap.  I have to go to the 1st floor membership desk.  

Back to locker, put pants and shoes on, down to the desk, buy a swim cap, but not before the guy asks to see my guest pass. "This is all you've got?" he asks, but he drops it because he can see the murder in my eyes. 

Finally, I get myself, towels and tote bag to the pool, and get in the water. 

And everything is okay again.

I Spent All Day Doing What?

Writing an SPN review.  Re-watching the episode, looking up and watching an interview, taking a break by accidentally eating two lunches (now I know what I'm having for dinner...nothing).  Went to therapy, did about 10 minutes proofreading the paperback version of "The Abortionist's Daughter."  Jeff's reading it and likes the book!!  I took it with me to therapy so I could proofread on the bus back.  My therapist was a bit surprised at how thick it is.  How many pages it is.  Get your mind out of the gutter.  For those of you intimately familiar with my writing, you know I don't do short and sweet.

Recovering from last night's "Walking Dead."  I'm fine with waiting until February, but did they have to kill Herschel? I stayed up until 1 AM.

Thanksgiving was quiet.  The first everything that happens after a loved one dies is so difficult.  First Hanukkah, first Thanksgiving, first wedding anniversary.  So we skipped the family dinner and went to our favorite diner.  Yesterday we rented a car and went shopping.  Then we discovered the third S1 disc of "Breaking Bad" had only ONE episode on it!

Fletcher, Cleo and Rupert are all staring at me. Rupert, my big gray cat, is yowling.  So off to feed the animals and then watch a recorded episode of "Hoarding: Buried Alive."

 Feed me, or this toy is toast.

 

I've got work avoidance down to an art, I tell you.

Disability Political Action Groups? Damned I Can Find Any

With all of the kerfuffle about Social Security and Medicare, I'm not seeing any activist groups made up of the disabled.  We receive Social Security Disability (in my case, a pittance).  With all of the other cuts, many of us are going to be royally screwed when it comes to healthcare, food stamps, etc. etc.

Several of my caregivers no longer take Medicare.  Or, in some cases, I have to pay for services I didn't have to before this calendar year.

The language of the discussion of benefits has taken an interesting linguistic turn.  What used to be called "services"  and "benefits" are now called "entitlements."  As if people feel "entitled" to these benefits and don't deserve them.  They are no longer services, they are demands.  So now the politicians can further demonize the poor, disabled, and anyone who needs government assistance.

I thought I'd find a disability political action group protesting the upcoming cuts and the attempted rollback of the Affordable Care Act (aka Obamacare).  However, everything I can find is out of date, or is mostly about jobs and access.  Where is the movement?  Where is our Occupy Wall Street?  (I am trying so hard not to make the joke Occupy Wheelchair--oops.) 

If anyone can point me in the direction of a political action group, please do. 'Cause the Internet is coming up short.  And no, that's not a little people joke.  Actually, it is.