Road Rage and the Problem with the Word "Fickle"

Fickle. Yes, fickle is how some people like to describe the weather when it is wildly varied from day to day. I don’t particularly like that word applied to meteorological phenomena because it connotes an element of cuteness; it makes the weather sound coy and playful. I don’t find sweltering and panting my way through one long night with the fan pointed directly at my head while I sleep and then having the next night so breezy and cool that I’m actually cold and need a blanket playful. It’s maddening, I tell you! And the madness has spread. Whilst I was out running errands in between doctor appointments today I witnessed some of the worst collective driving I’ve ever seen in a single day. I kid not. The worst EVER. I will illustrate with just a tiny sampling of incidents from among the numerous near-catastrophes I was party to on my drive around town. In the most spectacular idiot fit of all, there was the young woman who was so busy shouting animatedly out of her window at the doofus in front of her who was making an illegal and traffic-halting U-turn that she almost ran into someone else head-on who immediately commenced honking and yelling at HER. And then there was the poor befuddled human who was stopped in front of me. He was stopped at an intersection where there was no stop sign and no traffic light. Just stopped. Admiring the mailbox arrangement on the corner, perhaps? Pondering whether or not it was worth it to even go on? I’ll never know.

In another unrelated sighting this afternoon, I drove by a middle-aged man smoking outside a building and wearing, I swear, what appeared to be a somewhat pained and guilty look. I was perplexed for about .6 seconds until I noticed that he was standing within five feet of a large sign painted on the building's side that declared, “Stop Smoking in 30 Minutes!!!”--complete with a large ticking clock graphic. I guess he was on minute 29.

And now for the daily knee update: not too much has changed; I’m still limping because my leg can’t straighten out completely, but I can bend it nearly all the way back to its full range. However, the doctor discovered something today that really disturbs me. He felt compelled to measure my thigh muscles and I have evidently lost one centimeter of girth from my right leg. In only three weeks! It’s daunting how quickly muscle mass can go away, and how much more effort it takes to gain it back. I really want to start working out again with a vengeance before my body dissolves into nothing. I am a big flabby mess right now. Okay, I will concede that I’m only a small flabby mess, but a bucket of out-of-shape jiggliness nonetheless. One centimeter!!!!