So, last night, I committed a cardinal sin.

I skipped Book Club.

Why?  Well, I could give you several lame excuses about my need to be home with my family, or I could feign illness, or I could just lie and say I forgot.  But A) family schamily, B) I’ve been sick and gone before, and C) I sent out the reminder email just a day earlier.

In reality, I just couldn’t deal.

Most of my Book Club is also part of our little theatre community.  Meaning that 95% of our gossip revolves around the ridiculously scandalous aspect of our incestuous little groups.  Did John and Marlena break up?  Will Luke and Laura ever tie the knot?  HOLY SHIT, STEFANO ISN’T DEAD?!  And this is fun when no one you care about is actually involved in the scandal, but it’s a lot less fun when someone you know IS involved.

And when the someone involved in the scandal is YOU?  Well.  Sucks.

Please don’t misunderstand; I love my Book Club.  LOVE THEM.  With all CAPS: LOVE THEM.  I have no doubt that had I attended, it would’ve eventually wandered into a rah-rah-sisboombah cheering section of GO, SARAH, GO!, but that would also involve me rehashing every.minute.detail, and Lord, I just don’t want to.  Can’t we just go on as if nothing was ever said, and pretend that life skipped over the last week?

So I didn’t go.  Stayed home and watched PBS instead.  I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE WINE, PEOPLE.  That’s the level of depressed I was feeling last night.

And I seriously woke up this morning thinking, “I should just become a recluse for, like, a year.  And I need a new bra.”  The two weren’t connected, although it would be awesome to emerge from my reclusion (word? anyone?) with a greatly supported rack.  Everyone would be all, Did she get her boobs done?  and I’d just smirk and think, “Hells no, bitches.  UNDERWIRE.”

I digress.

And, for the record, I am not normally a woe-is-me kind of person who sits and mopes.  I am typically a silver-lining-finder, a person who knows that karma will come back around if I just hang in there.  But I haven’t been this go-round.  Um, why?  I really don’t know.  That’s a good question for another post.

SO, I DIGRESSED AGAIN, AND I’M SORRY.  ON WITH THE STORY.

I began with my Recluse 2009 plan by turning off my phone last night.  When I booted it up this morning, I had tons of emails and a few texts waiting on me, worrying that I wasn’t at Book Club.  It was sweet to be missed.

Ooh, and then, it was a GORGEOUS day.  I’m always surprised by the huge effect sunshine has on my mental health.   So I was even, like, kinda skippy going into work today.

And then I had an email waiting on me from Moe, who surprised me with the news that A Little Happy was waiting for me at home!   How awesome IS that?!  (And she also admitted that she brought some pics of us in high school to Book Club last night and everyone was all, “SARAH’S BLONDE?!”)

(Yes.  I am a natural blonde.)

Then I met Steph for lunch at Bandito, where we devoured fish tacos.  I know it sounds all gay, but they have the BEST fish tacos.  Not a fishy taste at all. (THAT’S WHAT HE SAID.) And if anyone can cheer me on to get over something sucky, Steph is the queen.  Not only is she quick to defend her posse, but she’s also BEEN through so much crap and come out on the other side the wiser. 

Did I mention how beautiful it is outside?  I actually stopped writing for a bit to go outside and revel in the sunshine.  I cannot WAIT for spring.

So anyway, then I was walking down the hall and I passed one of our head honchos that I’ve literally worked for since before I was married.  He stopped and watched me for a little bit, and I figured he was trying to remember something he needed, so I stopped and asked what was up.  “You just look.. different,” he said, cocking his head.  “I don’t know.  You look more like yourself today than you have in a long time.”

“I look more like myself..” I repeated.

“Yep.  You look like you did when I met you.”

Our VP breezed by and said, “She’s doing that Scale Back Alabama thing, you know.”  And he kept walking.

And yes, it was a backhanded compliment.  Sure, he said I look good.. but he was saying I was fat.  But you know?  I was.  I’m getting not so fat anymore.  That’s good news.  And all the criticism the last week?  I did all that I was accused of. (Years ago.) I’m not that girl anymore.  That’s good news.  Looking back sometimes is the way to look forward.

I leave you with this picture of my baby.  It’s bad resolution (I NEED A NEW CAMERA), but I still love it.  We had just handed the baby a lemon, which he loves, but before he enjoys it he makes this face.  And while I know it’s his “lemon eating” face, it always makes me think of Homer Simpson’s animated burps.

The end.