Okay. I have spent almost forty years trying to make sure everyone else is happy and it's exhausting. I'm too busy and tired to do it anymore. My heavy-duty personal filter probably needs replaced, because it's allowing people to find out too much about me. [I blame Facebook.]
My poor running team never stood a chance.
After a few miles, there's no way I'm editing - I'm too busy trying not to fall, hit my head, or be distracted by any asymmetry in my shoes (or by the way my hydration belt is sitting on my hips or how my zipper pull is dangling or whether my socks are where they need to be, etc...I can get very compulsive when I'm tired). Sweat apparently makes the holes of my filter much bigger. Anyone running with me is certainly getting the "Real GiGi." My apologies to Jayme, Macey, Tricia, and Debbie. [Fawn already knew the real me. She's seen me after mojitos.]
Usually, I am pretty good about keeping the F-word in my head and away from my mouth. Not lately, though, unless you're under the age of ten and over the age of seventy (and that's been a struggle, lemme tell ya). Sorry. I'm the daughter of a trucker, and I've worked with too many engineers and hairstylists to go back now.
The sarcasm used to be reserved for a select few, but it's beginning to seep out into my everyday conversations. Sorry to those of you who thought I was Pollyanna. [Did any of you really think that?]
What's been such a surprise is that people still seem to like me. [Huh...]