On a Roll

Ever since I was kidnapped last week and subjected to an exhausting battery of tests (yes, more results are forthcoming, as promised!), I’ve been doing a lot of intense soul-searching. Rather than focusing on the shortcomings of those around me and getting all up in arms about improper uses of apostrophes, bad workout form, or slow-moving halfwits on Sixth Avenue who can’t get it through their heads that the wet stuff that falls from the sky is the same stuff that comes out of their shower and that there’s no need to panic, I’ve been turning my thoughts inward. I’ve been introspective. And today I finally confronted something that I’ve been avoiding for quite some time now. I’ve been shoving it aside, hoping I wouldn’t have to actually address it, because it causes me almost palpable physical pain.
Here is what I discovered: No matter how much it would warm my heart, there is no way that Shana is ever going to accept an empty toilet-paper roll as a toy.
I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to encourage her to play with one. No matter how excited I was to nudge the bare cardboard roll toward her with my foot in the hopes that she would realize how much fun it is to chase it around the apartment, she still doesn’t express even the slightest interest. I’m crushed. But at least, in identifying this harsh reality, I’ve taken the first step.
And here I thought I wasn’t “spiritual”. Here I thought I was too concerned with the minutiae of daily life. Here I thought I was too focused on manicures, perfectly-fitting corduroys, and black turtlenecks. Here I thought that all that mattered to me was tofu, Pilates, and the gym. Iced coffee, “All My Children”, and Pilates. Pilates, Pilates, and Pilates. Iced coffee. And Pilates.
Say hello to the new me!