Sorry. It's like I have verbal (mental? typing? blogging?) diarrhea today.I cleaned my apartment. I always leave it until it's borderline disgusting because I make it out to be this huge ordeal, when in fact it's over in an hour and a half. And I always feel so happy afterwards.
I'm halfway through "Annie Hall". I think I've seen it before but I don't care. I love Woody Allen. I get anxious when I think about him no longer making movies. I am savouring this movie like the way I sometimes savour truffles. I haven't gone through his entire body of work, but I've seen most of his movies. Man. If you haven't seen "September" and "Crimes and Misdemeanors" you should bump "Shortbus" and "Margot at the Wedding" off, and replace them with Allen's work.
Went to the gym. I tried to take it easy, but I have an inkling that I'm not going to be able to move my arms tomorrow; they're already shaky. I did 60 (girl) push ups. I did 45 minutes of arms and abs and 30 minutes on the bike. Pent up energy, much? Five minutes into it I felt this wave of happiness wash over me. Exercise is such a regulator. I don't think I will ever be able to not do it. Sometimes I try to not do it, but I do it anyways (as with other things). Like when I picked up the movies at Rogers and when heading back to my pad I started jogging and I was like "oh, I guess I'm jogging now".
Michael's been a little more consistent. He ran on Sunday and he didn't go off the deep end eating the way I did. I was going to take a post-marathon photo as well, but the scale said I weighed 110 pounds (after eating a banana and downing a bottle of water) and I wasn't feeling super happy or impressed with my body at that particular moment.
Blurgh. I don't want to go to work tomorrow. And I am doing nothing to change it. Someone wrote "The Friday Night Knitting Club". Someone made "Shortbus". People listen to Nickleback.
Moreover? Nothing from Canadian Tire yet. What a bunch of dingbats.
Putting my coat on and taking it off is going to be troublesome tomorrow.
2 comments:
I didn't think I'd ever stop working out, but I did, and now I really regret it.
I don't like when my arms are sore, but I do like when my legs are. I like when it feels like I may need help standing up "honey, can you come help me? I'm in the bathroom..."
oh duder, i like your hairy chest
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