Last night as I said good night to my friend, I walked into the kitchen to turn off the overhead light. I noticed that in my haste to get to work yesterday, I’d left my counter stool kind of in the middle of the kitchen … or at least not under the counter. Glancing at it – it registered there was a LARGE black spot on it.
“Hmmm – I wonder what dropped on it?” My brain processes the shape – the possibilities – and my mouth screamed “Yieeeeks! It’s a bug! A F’ing B-I-G A-S-S bug.”
So I quickly retrieved a shoe from the living room and bashed the hell out of the bug. This left a huge pile of bug mush and juice on my stool. *sigh*
As I walked to the paper towel holder (located under the kitchen sink) I noticed a movement down near my BARE FEET.
Another damn bug. This one was more of a challenge to mash into pulp, but I succeeded. After wiping up the remains of the gooosh, and depositing the dead bodies in the garbage (usually I suck them up in the dustbuster, but they were too “wet” to suck up), I toddled off to bed – and refused to consider the possibility there are HUNDREDS lurking in my bedroom just waiting to pounce.
Two Running Men
Every morning as I drive to the YMCA, I meet the “TWO OLD RUNNING MEN.” They have wiry bodies, gray-haired concaved chests, and wrap reflective tape around their forearms.
It seems to not matter what the weather is, they jog sans shirts.
Every time I pass them, the outside runner lifts his outside forearm (like in the Wonder Woman pose).
I treat it as a silent greeting of camaraderie.
“Hello fellow early morning, still dark out, exerciser. Glad to see you’re heading to the Y.”
I wave back acknowledging that again today I have made it this far towards my daily work out.
In reality, I’m sure they’re just trying to “ward-off” the evil black TrailBlazer heading towards them at 5:00 am, but my little fantasy makes me happy.
(Wouldn’t it be funny if they make up a story about the delusional red-head who cheerfully waves at them each morning?)
Yes, shocking I know. I have TWO BOOBS. This week they are rather tender. There is one machine at the gym where you lean your chest (boobs) against the triangle shaped pad, and then pull the weights towards you.
Most mornings I kind of marvel at how the pad fits between my non-existent cleavage, and how the boobs, they do not get in the way. And wonder about other, larger endowed women, and how this machine works (or doesn’t) for them.
Today, I could only notice how painful it was to squish that padded piece between the boobs. After the first repetition of 12, I reached up to rub where it hurt.
THEN I FELT ABOUT A MILLION MAN-EYES ON ME and stopped.
I did the second repetition, but grimaced with each pull.
I AM SO SKIPPING THAT EXERCISE for the rest of this week.
One workout completed
Today is the first time since I’ve gone back to working out that I finished the 30 minute elliptical without begging/cussing/pleading with me/Didi/God to complete it. I also finished the full weight circuit – even if I didn’t always complete the second rep of twelve on everything.
I cannot tell you how disgusted and discouraged I am to see how my lack of attendance has ruined my progress. I have another week in town – and then a week out of town. Packing my tennis shoes to workout is a huge problem (space) – so I’m not always good about working out on the road. Then I’m home for a week – then gone for the last three weeks of August. I’M NEVER GOING TO REGAIN or progress. < /self-pity >