Sunday, July 29, 2007

The Worst Part of the Weekend

This is the worst part -- when all the work is done and you've just settled into knowing that you have to go back to work tomorrow and that the weekend is over. This blows. I am still not independently wealthy.

I AM very sore. I pulled a muscle in my lower leg when I went out running last Thursday night and decided to rest a bit. It's been hot as balls here, or what the media calls "oppressively humid." The Thursday run was miserable and I nearly cried walking back. Today, I decided to wait until it was a tad less opressive and went out around 5. I've mapped out a few 3 mile routes in the area, using my new best friend, Google Maps. Unfortunately, my new best friend does not tell you when your selected 3-mile-run-in-humid-90-degree heat is almost all uphill because she is a bitch like that. I made it about a half mile, then had to walk, ran another 10 minutes and had to stop, and then had to stop again. I did get a solid mile in toward the end, but I was panting and my fucking chub rub was so bad, I wanted to scream. I HATE wearing shorts. Absolutely hate it, but it's frickin hot. I dragged my sweaty, red raw ass into the house and YG commented that he had never seen me looking so wet. And...heh. I'm twelve.

And then I cooked dinner for the three of us. For reals. I used THREE burners.
Very exciting.

Other than that, a nice low key weekend in Cambridge. I got my car cut yesterday morning and then we went to the Museum of Science. The cab we were in got in a minor fender bender on the way home, but nothing terribly interesting. We had some pizza at Mike's, people-watched in Davis, and then took the MG to see The Simpsons movie which was frickin' hilarious. Today: church, brunch, bill paying, a very glamorous cleaning of the litter box and disinfecting of the recycling bins, and the run. Ho hum.

I'm making an effort to not talk about work right now because it will only make me sad. And everything else is good and normal and content. I need some angst. I need some angst so I can pen my opus. Right now, my opus is reading a bit "Slouching Toward The Dry Cleaner in My Suburu Outback." Whatevs.

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