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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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An End To Demonhood?
Gym Dandy Or Happy Concentration Camper? The Demon Who Always Does The Right Thing just joined a new gym, so I went to work out with her today using one of her precious guest passes. We took a BOSUN class. (Have you heard of the BOSUN thing? It's a half ball on some kind of base, and you use it to do ab and oh-so-trendy "core" work). I think we kind of pissed off the instructor, The Demon and myself. First, we were late for the class, then we giggled through the stretching with the "turquoise tubes" portion of the proceedings because the tube slipped off my foot and knocked me in the head. Also? The instructor made some reference during the final stretching to making your body look like "an open swastika," which kind of irked me and The Demon. (I mean, a swastika? C'mon. She may as well have said, "This workout will make you as skinny as a concentration camper!") Anyway, after the class, The Demon went off to do some cardio, and I went down to the weight room to do my Navy Seal leg workout. It was interesting, I noticed, to be in a gym which had a mix of generations working out. Usually, at the university gym, there is the nineteen-year-old hardbody faction--the gym rats whose teenaged bodies haven't yet betrayed them by succumbing to the deadly combination of gravity and starvation diets. No, at The Demon's new gym, there were old people and children and business men on their lunch breaks. There were bored housewives and perky desk bunnies. It was strange and different and made me kind of self-conscious about working out. I didn't get the meat market vibe at all though, which was nice. Also? I weighed myself on their scale and came up with a sweet number: 158. That is two pounds below my personal goal of 160. Maybe now I can start eating again or something. Something? After our workout, we went off to lunch, of course. We headed back to the same bakery/cafe where I had my meltdown a few days ago. I had a salad and part of a bowl of soup and half a slice of toast. (I'm just another happy concentration camper after a lunch like that!) You Say It's Your Birthday? So I have decided on two gifts for my birthday: One, I am going to make it my job to find a job. Two, I am going to get rid of at least a third of my possessions. I have already started on the possessions thing, having rearranged my apartment and tossed out a bunch of stuff that I haven't used in months. Since I own so little already, there are going to have to be some hard decisions made soon about books and artwork. But it's going, baby. I've already decided to continue to live as simply as possible in terms of what I own. Does That Possession Thing Mean Not Buying The Motorcycle? You cynics, you. Yes, I am going to, as far as things stand right now, buy the motorcycle that The Demon Grrlfriend is selling, a sweet little red Kawasaki Ninja crotch-rocket. (I sat on it this morning when I went to The Demon's house. And I look pretty damn hot on that bike if I do say so myself.) Hit Me, Baby, One More Time Someone Google searched for "bowl-a-44" and hit my site. What kind of people are looking to "bowl-a-44" I wonder. (Some pretty sad people, I guess.) Anyway, welcome all loser bowlers--a club in which I am a proud member, naturally. Grateful or Grating? I am grateful. I am grateful for friends incommunicado and for friend in communicado. I am grateful. I am grateful for a gym workout and for the jealous looks at the few gym bunnies. I am grateful. I am grateful for the truthful words of The Demon and for the happy, tired Demon Grrlfriend. I am grateful for Max, for coffee, for Cliff's Bars, for this time, for my life, for a day spent in company and in isolation. I am grateful. I am grateful and this is how I show my humility. I am grateful and this is how I show my obedience. I am grateful.
More lies:
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