Lie Down Until It Passes

"Mommy, I need to go exercise," insists my 11-year-old daughter. She is curled up with a bag of microwave popcorn in the next room, watching a Seinfeld rerun. I hear her through the phone intercom, which I have on speaker. She probably has her handset on speaker as well; she loves to talk on the phone that way, making a whole room an audience to her conversations.
     I don't want to move.
     I have to feel guilty. In this age of obesity, I should support every whim to exercise that my children manifest.
     But I don't want to move.
     The dog is folded beside my desk, one foreleg bent at every joint and one extended, his enormous ears half up, hoping to hear my daughter drop a piece of popcorn in the next room, both hind legs to one side. My sleek black dog looks like a black Lab puppy, all legs and ears and tail. He stands up and shakes himself, so relaxed that it looks as if one of his limbs will flop off.He looks at me, hoping I'll decide to take him for a walk. I know this because this is his constant desire.
     One reason I don't want to take my girl to exercise is that she wants to go to the exercise room in the apartment building where my brother used to live. He got an extra electronic device to get into the building for me. I used it plenty when he was there--after all, I cosigned the lease--but I feel like a fraud going in now. I sigh. Why don't I just turn in the device?
     An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted up. X law of thermodynamics. I hate it when people include definitions in speeches, but it never bothers me if they quote one of the laws of thermodynamics.
     "Mom," her voice comes over the speaker. I'd forgotten it was on. I'm trying to pull together some research on how people react to male nurses. I'm also trying to decide if I should focus on a different topic. And play the daily jigsaw puzzle on the computer and decide when I'll start dinner.