Today was a bad day.  I think it is because we are so close to my mother’s yahrzeit.

Even SOB (sister of blogger), who is an uncommonly happy and cheerful person, had a hard day.  And I was too angst-ridden to lift her mood.  And that only added to my sadness.  So, we discussed whether to visit our mother’s grave THIS weekend or NEXT weekend.  [Don’t worry, no bringing in the Joni [Mitchell] until her actual yahrzeit.]  You get the mood.

Post-holiday blues set in and all the promises of deal flow in the new year now have to happen.  STRESS. The usual complement of day-to-day life.  But somehow today’s sturm und drang was harder.  And if you look at the paper, well, you start to believe that sect that thinks the world is ending on May 11, 2011.

I was surprisingly productive (angst and the fear of homelessness –inherited from your Depression-Era/children-of-immigrants parents — will do that), but I needed the stress-relief that either a bath-tub size martini or a good work-out would give.

In a fit of self-preservation, I chose the latter. When I got to the gym, I looked around at all these calm, self-absorbed people who obviously didn’t know that the end of the world is near (whether because of some religious group’s prophecy or based on today’s world news).  By the way, I reserved one of those huge airport limousines for the End of Days, in case anyone needs a comfy lift to Hell.  But there I go, on a digression, AGAIN.

So, I decided that I would see what it felt like if I acted like them and just let go of the angst and the fears (with some medicinal assistance).

“Walk like they walk; do like they do” became my mantra.  I got a towel and stripped down.  As I noticed, the women don’t use the towels to cover their bodies, so I wrapped the towel around my dry hair and contemplated the cuticles on my toes.  Just like they did.  Then I stretched, making sure that my breasts got in the way of traffic flow in and out of the locker room, all the while yawning.  Just like they did.

I walked over to the mirror and patted my tummy as I sucked it in and the open my eyes wide to reduce the more obvious wrinkles.  I applied moisturizer, just like they did.  Then, I took off my towel, bent over at the waist and shook out my dry hair.  I lifted my the upper half of my body in a whoooooosh and sucked in my cheeks (facial cheeks) like a deranged model on the catwalk.  I guess you do that to see what you would look like if you had as much plastic surgery as Joan Rivers has had.

Then I moisturized my whole body and looked in various mirrors.  I used the mouthwash.  As I spat in the sink, still buck naked, I felt liberated.

If you believe anything I wrote after “[w]hen I got the gym,” then you don’t know me at all.  I worked out, lifting weights and successfully doing (ok, only two) unassisted military pull-ups, among other stress-reducing and pain-inducing exercises.  And afterward, I changed in the most unobtrusive way possible and did so quickly so I could get home to my family before my son went to sleep.

But every now and again, it would be fun to pretend . . . .