Rita was confused. The calendar indicated that it was spring. Then why did she keep falling down?

I’m confused. But that shouldn’t surprise anyone.

Flowers are blooming. Buds are popping. Grass is growing. Birds are singing. College kids are skipping classes. Road crews are setting up construction signs. Spring is here.

Then why am I falling apart?

Oh, I know you think I’m melodramatizing again. When will you learn that I absolutely, positively never, ever exaggerate? I suppose I’ll have to give you the sordid details of my dismantalization, or for those of you who prefer not to sound out made-up words, the ways in which I’ve been falling apart lately.

I'm about to lose my license...

Green Food Blues: My super healthy and generous sister learned about the billion health benefits of juicing (and drinking) wheat grass. She bought a juicer for herself and for me. Not having any wheat grass on hand, she shared some grass with me to get me started. I quickly ran out of my limited free supply and talked to her about becoming my grass supplier, but needed some before she could make the arrangements, so I had to buy a stash from a local supplier. (This is perfectly legal, I assure you.) All was going well, meaning I wasn’t feeling any better or worse and didn’t get any serious grass stains on anything I valued, including my teeth. After about three days of consuming the locally-supplied grass, I got some rather serious rumblies in my tumblies. It wasn’t pretty on any level. Even though I was only drinking an ounce a day, my digestive tract decided to stage a hostile take-over. Each time I consumed any food, especially raw fruits or vegetables (remember, I’m vegan), I produced enough natural gas to power the local Holiday Inn. That was about two months ago. I stopped drinking the wheat grass, but my gut hasn’t forgiven me. My “safe foods” are broth. Everything else causes so much discomfort and embarrassment that I’m considering installing a muffler where the sun don’t shine. Oh, and I’ve made an appointment with my exorcist…doctor.

Oh, this may look safe enough. But beware of the hidden dangers of mounting a stationary bike. They carpet those floors for a reason.

These Wheels Were Made For Rolling: Philip bought us both new touring bikes. He loves to bike. I haven’t been on a bike since I got dizzy 11 years ago, but I was willing to give it a go. My test ride went great. No balance problems. No bike/car, bike/bike, bike/curb, bike/animal or bike/pedestrian accidents. I figured biking was our new best sport. We went on our maiden voyage a couple of weekends ago–10 miles. Except for a sore tush, all was well. This past weekend was our second ride. All was not so well. I should have known to pay extra attention to my every move because I woke up with “verbal typos.” I had a hard time communicating coherently–kind of like drunks have a hard time answering sobriety questions, only I wasn’t drunk. I felt fine; I just sounded like the village idiot. Why, then, was I surprised when I went to mount my bike that was stock-still, completely lost my balance, and landed HARD on my left knee and wrist? On pavement. Philip was putting on his helmet and assuming I was a normally functioning person. He saw the crash and rushed over to me while I spent my time writhing on the ground rubbing my knee. I didn’t cry, but I wanted to because it felt like my kneecap cracked. It didn’t. I could have blamed it on the south wind, but I didn’t (mostly because I was facing the wind). We went on our bike ride; I insisted in whatever language I was using at the time. “Go must we. I’m Otay.” My yoga pants never ripped, but I have a three-inch round road rash on my left knee. The skin must be on the inside of my yoga pants, which are being laundered to destroy the forensic evidence.

I know how you feel, Lorna. Let's do a fist bump or a diaper dump, oops, I mean bump.

Sunshine Go Away Today, I Don’t Feel Much Like Itching: Either I’ve become allergic to the sun or to sun-screen. Either way, outdoor sports and activities are going to be difficult for me unless I become accustomed to this insanely itchy puffy-eyed and blotchy faced look I’m currently sporting. Philip will have to get used to it, too. I looked at myself in the mirror today and it’s better than it was yesterday. Today I don’t look like I spent too much time in a tanning booth with a swarm of bees; I look more like I am recovering from some cosmetic procedure involving words like abrasion and injections. See, this weekend I spent more time in the sunshine than most bats like to spend. I’m careful, so I wore sunscreen. Something went terribly wrong. I’m back in the bat-cave today and praying for the cloudy weather they keep forecasting.

Holy Super Heroes, Batman! Looks like there's enough for a dizzy blonde to do in the Bat Cave. Why would I want to go outside at all?

So signs of spring are everywhere. Flowers blooming, grass sprouting, trees leaving, college kids skipping classes; and me bruised, gassy, itchy, and in hiding. I can’t wait for fall when I’ll feel put back together again. Maybe I’ll even have a spring in my step…

Nah. That would be asking for more trouble knowing me...