Recently on Facebook, I made the following statement: "It's amazing how much doesn't get done when you just don't try". I promptly removed the post, in fear that it might be misinterpreted as some grand political or philosophical statement. In reality, I was just observing my profound laziness.
Side note: The overthink-after-posting delete is a move I practice with some regularity, actually. The force is so unyielding that I have, at times, had to remove my sleep mask, trek upstairs, and restart my computer just to remove something that, at first thought, was witty with just a dash of brilliant, but under the cool, dark pressure of my brand new anti-migraine beaded eye mask, whispers to me of reader misconception. It is not that I care whether anyone agrees with what I think; it is just that if they do loathe me, I'd rather they do it based on what I really meant, not for what I didn't communicate effectively.
Last week was the first of two children-are-away-mommy-wants-to-play weeks. Sure, I had grand plans for the week. I printed my half-marathon training program and tacked the schedule purposefully to my she-cave wall. Finally, I thought, I will have the ability to run as long as I want, as often as I want. I could go make nice with the fine folks over at the MAC, who so graciously send me emails to remind me it has been a few weeks since they've seen me. (Okay, so it's probably been a few months...I simply stopped checking their emails.) Alas, my muscles were all a-twitter with excitement.
And so began the excuses.
Monday. Well, Monday was a long, difficult day at work. I would like to state for the record that fungal toenails are not a life threatening medical emergency, and calling me twelve times a day to regurgitate the latest .com article you read on innovative topical treatments is not only unnecessary, but also makes me want to send Guido a-knockin'. Needless to say, I was not able to come home over the lunch hour to allow my dog a bathroom break, so going straight home was really the responsible thing to do, right? Long story short, I ate my nutritious and delicious chicken tender dinner in front of The Daily Show On Demand and did a whole lot of nothing. Seriously, how do single people keep from going to sleep at 7pm? I laid down just to "let my food settle" and I passed out. The house was so quiet, my belly was so full, and it just felt right. Tuesday evening was much of the same, this time telling myself that it's okay to be a little lazy every once and a while...after all, I'm so busy the rest of the year, of course I should take a few days to do nothing. I gave myself half credit for Wednesday, though, since I actually drove by the gym on my way home from work...although I had no real intention of going inside, and only took that route to avoid the unusually crazy beltway drivers.
Side note: I would like some sort of sign language system to communicate to my fellow 83 North drivers that it is not okay to do any of the following:
1. Drive whilest you talk on your cell phone (tchyellow, it's illegal in Maryland now, folks), smoke a cigarette, shift your car, and simultaneously cut me off...unless you plan to hit me hard enough to total my car, but not so hard as to kill me.
2. Apply makeup and/or read your daily paper while driving.
3. Drive with earbuds in both ears.
4. Cut over three lanes of traffic without establishing yourself in each lane, and without a blinker to indicate you intend to perform such a maneuver, especially if you drive an 18 wheeler.
I would like the gesture to be less offensive than the middle finger because, frankly, I just don't feel good about myself after I release that crooked digit from it's holster. Also, I don't necessarily want to say f*#@ you, I just want to say, "Your behaviour is very, very unsafe, and I would appreciate if you made a few modifications...for everyone's safety, mkay?"
Thursday was trivia night (not to mention that the extreme heat made simply breathing a Herculean task), so exercise was bumped yet again from my evening agenda. Funny thing about trivia night...I apparently suck. Not just a little bit, either. Outside of the green pie questions, I knew nada. Even when the moderator threw me a bone with an anatomy question, I bombed. (The trachea connects the esophagus to the lungs, by the way, not the pharynx.) It was quite the blow to the intellectual ego, let me tell you.
Friday night was migraine night because, well, why not? At this rate, I should have my beach body by....ooooh, next summer. Hello bathing suit mom-skirt cover up, here I come.
I'm neurotic today because...
...I received a strongly worded letter from my landlord indicating that I need to get off my lazy hindparts and take care of the weeds in the lawn. Whoopsies.
