I rode last night - our distance ride - and I couldn't tell exactly what felt weird.  He was loose and swinging and comfortable and bending and the tiniest bit grumpy, but willing.  And then I realized that my saddle was the slightest bit loose, so for all those big swinging trot strides, I was shifting some.  And I'm psychotic about girths being tight, so I wonder what was up with my brain.

I had dropped off yet another urine sample yesterday morning for Savannah.  No call back.  Called at about 4:30 and got the ominous "we're looking into that."  Which means that the receptionist didn't tell the vet about the sample, or the message was lost somewhere, and the pee sat on a counter for nine hours.  That's too long.  It crystalized and was no good.  The vet, who I like, called me while I was trotting on Archie.  I took the call and continued to trot on Archie and impressed even myself when I started asking specifics.  The plan is to do the goddamn cystocentesis.  I said that I had to be there.  And they're refunding me for the UA I'd already paid for.  I really don't want to do the cysto.  I don't want it done at all and it scares me and I'm afraid it's going to hurt her and I'll probably be popping a damn xanax tomorrow afternoon. 

So, something happy and light:  named the kittens.  Getting Mexican after my last pre-half-marathon distance run (probably 8 miles tonight).  I'm planning for five miles on Thursday, soccer on Sunday, three miles next Tuesday and the run that Saturday.  I might die.  That's okay.