Over the years, it’s been well documented that I am a creature of routines and habits. Some are good, like going to the gym at the same time every morning, and some are bad; we won’t speak of those right now. Still, I dig a good routine, and Tuesday’s gym time was ruined by a dentist appointment I apparently made after a cleaning six months ago and only found out about via a Monday night reminder text from the office. Oh well, it seems my body will have to remain in this sagging and flaccid state one day longer.
With my self-imposed and well-regulated Tuesday gym time ruined by a face full of clean snags, I decided to squeeze in a walk in the woods at the Forest Hill Nature Area with my camera to blow the stink off me and enjoy the bright sunshine AND 20˚ temperatures1.
I walked, took a few photos of the geese and red-winged blackbirds that have returned from wherever geese and red-winged blackbirds go during the winter and then headed home to make a vat of lackluster rice and beans that will surely act as a colorectal broom of sorts for the next 24 to 36 hours. Then I farted extensively, processed photos, and skimmed the Indeed job boards, where I was tempted to apply for such career advancement opportunities as Pro Shop Attendant for an area golf course, Budtender, at the local WeedMart™, and Day Shift Milker at a nearby dairy farm. Somehow I managed not to send a resume. I digress.
With a mouthful of clean teeth, a gassy digestive track, and the knowledge that I won’t be milking any cows or weighing out your Gelato 33 anytime soon, I turned my attention to other late-afternoon/early evening habits and blissfully made dinner and watched international footy until going to bed, safe in the knowledge that my daily routine would be more normal on Wednesday morning.
Despite B being on spring break this week, I was up early to let Lola (the dog) out and feed her Wednesday morning. At this time, I realized the helmet-haired weather person on T.V. was correct, and we got an ice storm overnight that left everything coated in a thick layer of ice 2.
So, I farted again, hurriedly waved away the stank scent of fermented rice and beans, put the coffee on for Wifey, and returned to The Bed of Torment for another hour before waking to see the worsening ice.
Wifey: Wait until the sun comes out, it’ll melt, and then you can go.
Me: It’s 9:00 in the morning with freezing rain coming down; at what point is the sun coming out, Friday?
Not wanting my blood-thinned ass to fall on the ice or my long paid-off Ford Escape to find its way into a ditch on the way, I once again aborted my morning trip to the gym, opting to write this shit and drink french press coffee until I slip into a caffeine coma while slumped on a maxed-out toilet3.
Sooner or later, I will have to leave the house today, for I have an appointment with the O.G. Mindbender this afternoon, and you know I’m chomping at the bit to do some EMDR therapy!
OK, that’s enough. I will now turn my attention towards Thursday morning and a hopeful return to the gym to lumber my 3 miles nowhere fast and lift heavy things for no reason. And if I’m lucky, I might get another glimpse of the woman I saw the other day wearing a velour cape and Birkenstocks as she stood texting on her phone along the wall after helping her daughter figure out the treadmill. Sometimes, I can’t even make this shit up. And no, I’m not judging her fashion choices; I’m CELEBRATING them! More people should dress like they’re Frank Costanza’s lawyer.
Well, the haters said I couldn’t do it!! They said I couldn’t write a 700+ word post featuring crap photos, bad rice and beans, an ice storm, and doing virtually nothing. AND do it on a blog that is supposed to be about cycling!! I showed them! Fuck the haters!
Later.