Vampy Jurl

I am no longer just mother, wife, lawyer, friend. I am the undead. I have traded the pumping of warm blood through my veins for a greater physical need (the need to not be fat). I now rise in the ink-black, dark of night (5:00 a.m.) to prowl (drive) the empty streets, lit by the yellow light of electric lamps meant to make us feel safe, but only highlighting the loneliness of the road (uh...cause ain't nobody else driving their ass around at that hour).

In moments, I arrive at my destination, a place of sweat and tears (I only cry when someone farts and the fan blows it over me, making me laugh and cry at the same time) where people like me (fat or formerly fat or fearful of fat) come together while humanity (Husband) sleeps.

I look up to see the meeting place (Jazzercise, that's right, Jazzercise, bitches) and feel the presence of earlier arrivals (cause I wait to the last freaking minute to get my ass out of bed). I float (trudge while huffing and puffing) up the stairs, bathed in the moonlight (or light from the giant Kroger sign) with the thrill (dread) of entering a world known only to a handful of others (cause only retards get up this early to sweat together).

In raw anticipation (of getting it over with) I burst threw the door (actually, I run into the door unable to operate it properly because it's so freaking early). Here and there are the other undead (Jazzercisers), hunting and marking their territory (picking their spot on the floor and marking it with their water bottle).

Suddenly, a pulsing, rhythmic sound floods my ears (Justin Timberlake's latest tune with jazzy choreography= jazz hands!) and my body begins to move (barely). The Undead hunger (for freaking breakfast), drawn together in the heat and passion (or body odor and stretchy fabrics) of ritual (dance aerobics!).

Here the strong and experienced (couple of young skinny chicks and a bunch of old ladies) are united in their dark work (sweatin to pop music).

Soon, the sun rises (seriously, it rises) and I must return to my resting place (messy house) to prepare for a day of deadly sunshine (and diapers, dishes, e-mails, whiny associates, cranky partners, boring stuff, mommy, mommy, mommy!)

I sleep walk through the day until I must return to the night, (early, early morning jazzing), cloaked in the scent of the undead (stale vagina- hey-I'm not gonna shower first).

Seriously, I'm so freaking tired I can't see straight.