Over the past week or so, I have greeted each day with all the enthusiasm of a one-legged turtle. All of that is based on the assumption that a one-legged turtle would not want to get out of bed, leave the house, talk to people, or lay eyes upon the world as it deservedly turns to ashes after being given chance after chance to make things right.
I realize that this may make me sound like I’m depressed. Oddly enough, I feel quite good, or at least content. I’ll try to explain.
Stick a pin in this post, right—— HERE!
Homemade black bean burger. #Cat5Cooking
No one likes going to the doctor. Even in my healthiest days many, many, many pounds ago, I wasn’t a fan. Fast forward to age 49, and I am even less of a fan.
That bit of wisdom was seen scrawled on the restroom wall of the Burger Barn in Hoopa, California.1
Having a plan on Friday proved useless, so I entered Saturday planless and brainless. In other words, it was just me being me.
I was up around 8 for coffee, toast, and a couple of dippy eggs before lubing up Mr. Burgundy (not code for sex) and getting my shit together for a quick ride in the rapidly warming morning sun.
Some say that the best plan is not having a plan at all. Hmmmm….
“I’m going to do an Out and Back Better Than the Trainer Ride™ today! Wait…” — Me
Like a moth to the lame, a lemming to the fire, and a virgin to a cliff, Macro Monday has returned! [insert feigned applause and mumbled groans here] This time, it’s a two-parter.
Say what you want about the necessity, value, and quality of the—went on a bit too long—Soiled Chamois mini-shit show entitled The Quarantine Chronicles, it motivated me to write. Now, not so much.
Like getting rim-burning runs after a hot wing and Natty Light binge, Macro Monday is back! To be honest, I don’t know what that means, or why I felt the need to type it, but what’s done is done1.
