disclaimer: i scribbled the following at 3:30am the other morning. or evening, depending on your temporal constitution. read at your own discretion.
sweet merciful mary mother of baby jesus, i had no idea this was a, uh, a 'perk' to signing up. it's not in the bold print, or fine print even, of the paper work, but rather nestled in the 'meh, they'll figure it out soon enough' section of the 'hey thanks for joining your local y' sign up paperwork. this being this: included in my pool access (a privilege that i will probs never take them up on because i'm not keen on swimsuits (you call that a suit?!)) (also, interestingly enough, there is not an official APA approved term for swimsuit anxiety) (at least, nothing that came up in my .44 second google search) (ugh, why is my internet so slow???) (and my preferred alternative, public nude bathing, partial or otherwise, is only cool on certain lake washington beaches, weather permitting), locker room access (apparently there's a sauna somewhere in the nether parts of the women's locker room. i know this from having stepped into the first 20 square feet of said locker room long enough to change and overhear that one enthused lady in nary a towel exalting the virtues of tight quarters steamy rooms with only one entrance/exit, and i quote, 'yeow!'), and gym access (again, have yet to cross that threshold for the ludicrous reason of not having yet found the workout buddy who matches my idea of what a workout buddy would look like, which has everything to do with having an outfit to match mine and a venereally witty sense of humor to compliment mine that is only activated by close proximity to squat machines), they sent me home with a baby raptor, henceforth referred to as BabyRaptor, which is code/literary metaphor for 'when you go from not really exercising beyond the weekly modern dance move and bike commuting the 1.2 miles from home to work (uphill both ways!), to taking intense group workout classes with benignly deceptive names such as 'cardio&strength', there's gonna be a period of adjustment, ie yr gonna wake up starving - not literally malnutritioned to the point of eternal rest, but more of a figurative Now I See Where The Phrase I Could Eat A Horse comes from.
and so, my new to me BabyRaptor decided, after a handful of classes peppered over the past two weeks, to make her formal introduction to me at the wee hours of the night. unbeknownst to me, baby raptors sleep with one eye open. or so it seems by the needlepoint sharpness of their innate ENT faculties at any and all hours of the day/night, which were triggered to level defcon 1 alert by the stray nocturnal pitter patter of 4 tiny feet that was Upstairs Neighbor Cat 1 or 2 chasing something while being invariably cute. mistaking the noise of the feline for FoodMealNowSnack, BabyRaptor began climbing the freaking walls of my cozy, sparsely furnished room, chasing the phantom footsteps in a tazmanian whirlwind of sharp claws, an irrational zest for life that includes the termination of other life forms, and ballistic Prehistoric Animal Just Trying To Get Her Basic Needs Met behavior. this, for the record, is a bit difficult, nay, impossible, to sleep through. coupled with the fact that BabyRaptor was not to be talked down from this imminent feast to end all feasts that had become her soul purpose in life, i begrudgingly threw back the covers, extracted my tiny warm self from my tiny warm bed and made my way to the East Wing of my sweet digs where the kitchen is located.
time was of the essence in this situation and after a quick survey of feast options, my heart simultaneously sank and skipped a beat at the realization that the only thing that was ready to go now was Still In The Now Cold Rice Cooker cooked millet. now, trying to quell a baby raptor's AliveSnack gastro itch with cereal grain is akin to Sharpie drawing a pizza on a piece of damp cardboard, bringing it to a 5yr old's My Favorite Food Is Pizza pizza birthday party and calling it good. a hyper 5yr old. made of pure muscle, razor sharp teeth and a flight or fight response set to NowKillNow. nonetheless, i persevered.
'chew slowly,' i cooed, flavor-shy millet particles tumbling from the heaping fork as it traveled it's trajectory from tiny bowl, past trembling lizard (ok, ok, bird) lips, into DangerZone mouth with teeth area, 'it brings out the nutty, earthy flavor of the grain. . .'
and so, Upstairs Neighbor Cat 1 or 2 was spared the unfortunate position of being reappointed Midnight Snack 1 or 2, ravenous extinct beast was gently lowered into the daintiest of food comas, and yours truly got a few more hours of sleep before getting up, having somehow not been dissuaded from the idea that joining the y was still a pretty good idea that i'll stick out for three months at least.
as fortune would have it, yesterday i was able to make amends to BabyRaptor with half a cooked bird, a third a flank of fish, several a soft cooked egg, something that passed as bacon, and, for old time's sake, a waffle made of plain cooked millet. yes i may have some difficulty in convincing BabyRaptor that holidays are special because of their Not Every Frickin Day status, but that conversation is somewhere still in the future. ie whenever she awakens from her vegetative digestive state.