There isn't much to do in these parts, except go to the gym. The middle-aged flock there, trying to lose their flab. Some classes are ridiculously early, and I stumble in with the best outfit I could throw together so quickly, that doesn't resemble pajamas. Usually, I cover my messy hair with a cloth headband.
I wear my ugly glasses, old granny asses circa 2016, I've been trying to get a new scrip and find glasses that look better on me. DORK, I can hear the people at the desk thinking, every time I walk in. But I'm able to keep pace with the teacher, despite my heart condition.
Mormon ladies cart their kids to the exercise classes in play wagons, and the helmet wearing kids wait patiently for their moms to finish their leg lifts. I know that my hyperactive daughter would never sit still for this and daycare is too expensive. The gym has an upper level track and plenty of parking. Let's face it, I caught a horrible eye infection at the gym. I am never going back. I have needed two surgeries since then. I guess it's the treadmill for me.
No bells and whistles.
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Diary of a Downer Mom
Mystery / ThrillerThis is the diary of a depressed housewife type variety. I was hoping someone would stumble upon my diary, read my words and save me. That dress on the cover of this story? I actually wore that. You see, as a mom of a young baby, I have literally n...
