It was a day like all days...

This is Balthazar, my invisible dragon pal.

 ... filled with those events that alter and illuminate our times... and I was there.

Yes, I was there but the day was spectacularly light on the illuminating our time shit.

I was buzzing around in the morning, trying to get so much done before Joe came over at noon for lunchy. He was bringing his special shrimp and rice dish. YEA and YUM! My contribution was blueberry pie – purchased at the always awesome Saint Fratelli’s. There'd be flicks too. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and, possibly, Smoke Signals.

I was psyched.
And then I hit the gym – much earlier than usual. The joint was PACKED CITY. Maybe that’s because it was the Friday before a three day weekend OR the last Friday of a big vacation week OR because it was just a couple days before New Year’s Eve (AKA wear-your-scantiest-party-dress-and-indulge-every-crazy-ass-whim night).

Dunno.

I peeked in at the pool – could I score a lap lane? I sure as hell hoped so. On Wednesday I swam a full mile and it felt great! Nein, no free lanes. How about a corner where I could water aerobicize? Non, the open/unlaned area was full up with kiddies paddling about like wilding packs of border collie puppies on fresh air benders. Ah, no can do.

Upstairs to the ellipticals I went. But DAY-UM, every single one was taken. Mega bummer! I could've gotten on a treadmill or a stationary bike -– why didn't I? I think I was laser focused and not in a flexible mood. I wanted what I wanted.

I went by the weight area, figuring I’d lift a little until one of the ellipticals freed up. Nee. Every last bloody machine had an occupant.

FINE, I'll go home and do a lot of stretching and calesthenics. Hmmmph.

But first, Saint Fratelli’s and then over to Ginger Betty’s. I figured I’d buy Joe and I a couple of her MOST amazing gingerbread cookies. Yes, this was to be a big splurge day. Unaccountably, Betty was shut. Warum and shit?! Was she suffering from Christmas Baking Exhaustion Syndrome?

The universe was NOT smiling my way.

Then at home, while coming down the stairs I tripped – plummeting and tumbling ta-tas over tushie.

What caused my foozle-footedness? What did I stumble on? Was it:

• My imaginary dragon chum, Balthazar?
• A gang of invisible, roughhousing raccoons?
• A stray Death Star or Imperial Walker? (I do keep plenty on hand for emergencies, don’cha know)
• My formidible charms and sparkle?
• A devious, marauding and masked existential crisis?
• A dust mote?
• My own feets?

No idea. Down the steps I bounced and crashed. A team of faithful potted plants broke my fall somewhat and I landed on my, now very scraped up, knees. 

OOF-A-RAMA!

That was it for me. I was off to bed with bags of ice for my knees. I texted Joe, allowed that I was no fun AT ALL, grabbed Coco and curled up with my latest space opera.

Some days the best plan of all is to eat the cookie, cuddle the cat and stay in bed reading.