I woke up with the sun.
And by that I mean it was 9:38 and the sun was shining in my eyes. Annoying.
I blindly smacked my hand on the other side of the bed a couple of times before I realized my husband must have left for work already.
I felt lazy and awful that I was still in bed and he was out working hard (spouse's guilt is the worst, sometimes I wish Cj would be more lazy).
I know! I thought, I'll go running. What an idea.
I lay in bed for another 20 minutes thinking about it. I decided my best route would be to run right past Cj's work so that he could look out the window and think to himself "who is the hottie out running?" And then he could think "whaaaaaaaat? my wife??" And then I would throw him a peace sign and an air-five and keep running like it was no big deal until I got around the corner and collapsed from simultaneously trying to suck-in and jog at the same time.
It all seemed a lot cooler in my head.
Either way I got up, got dressed and ready to go, practiced my air-fives, got on my computer to check the weather...and realized it was only 7 degrees outside.
In despair I did the only thing I could think of. I poured a bowl of cereal, grabbed a blanket and started reading blogs on the couch.
But it gets worse. Because through the course of my blog reading, I somehow stumbled onto a blog written by a young, LDS girl whose husband died this year. So sad. The problem: her husband's name is Cj.
MY husband's name is Cj.
The end of the story: It is now 10:25 a.m. In less than 50 minutes I have been through the entire spectrum of emotions, beginning with annoyed and ending with me quietly crying on the couch because someone who has the same name as my husband died over 11 months ago.
It is a really good thing my husband's name isn't a more common name, like John.
I may actually consider making him go by his middle name, which is Ballou. (That is real.)
Let's be honest, I'm never going running.