Running around like a mad woman

I went jogging this morning at 6.33am, way behind schedule. I woke at 5.17am, but faffed around on the computer for too long. As I belted down the street I fretted. Fretting is one of my great talents. I may not be able to change a tyre or swim or clean my own house, but I can fret like a champion. This morning, I fretted that I wouldn’t be back by 7am to let the chooks out. I fretted that Sprog 2 would wake Daddy up for company. I fretted that Daddy would be cross, because he’s been working very hard the two days he’s been at the office this week and needs his sleep. I crossed the road, passed the Most Likely To Appear On A Current Affair For Turning Their Yard Into A Garbage Dump house – gotta love the “free fill” sign, what an irresistible offer – and saw a woman jogging with a snazzy Ipod shuffle-like thing attached to her upper arm. I fretted that it was dangerous to jog with headphones, might you not get skittled by a car? You know, like Anne Hathaway in that movie One Day. Then I fretted that I was a bad person because I didn’t feel very sorry about Anne Hathaway getting skittled in the movie. Admittedly I haven’t seen the movie, but I read the book on the cruise and kept seeing her face and it put me off. Anne Hathaway is sooooo annoying, with her big tits, big eyes and big dose of earnest … I fretted about my own mortality for a while, remembering the cheery phone call I got from my mother yesterday, urging me to get a mole checked on my back, as I’m the mother of two little girls now and can’t die on them. I passed an old bloke and briefly fretted that he was a perv. He had a bit of the perv look about him. How many pervs can one suburb have, though? They’ve already arrested the teenaged one who was hanging around the supermarket feeling up middle-aged women and taking photos of their bottoms with his mobile phone. He was getting away with it, too, until he took things that one step too far by crash-tackling someone to cop a bigger feel. I fretted about how nothing funny has been happening to me lately. I fretted about needing something funny to happen to me, so I can write about it on the blog. It’s been a bit gloomy. Nothing more dull than hearing someone moan incessantly. I fretted readers would get sick of me moaning and unsubscribe from the blog, like someone did earlier in the week. I fretted about why that one person unsubscribed. You’d have to be really sick of me to unsubscribe. Wouldn’t you just ignore my emails when they arrived in your in-box? This person actually went to the trouble of clicking buttons to get rid of me. Active dislike. I fretted that I should have been scandalous at the school mum’s dinner on Thursday night to spice the blog up. But I didn’t even drink enough to require walking home and peeing behind trees. As I jogged past the infamous pee tree, its pyjama and dressing gown-clad owner was collecting his newspaper. I contemplated complimenting him on his lovely foliage. But wisely decided to keep on jogging. I finally finished jogging and was puffing with relief at the traffic lights when I noticed the local Regarding Henry man – without Harrison Ford’s looks – approaching. I fretted about having to make inane conversation with him, so I was forced to start jogging again to curtail interaction. Sometimes you just need some peace, you know …