I ache from head to toes. Well, from my neck to my toes, but still… My body is taunting me, whispering “it’s your own damned fault for having not worked out for so long,” while it giggles like a sadistic little school girl. You know the one, every school has one. She’s the little B.I.T., embracing her future self like a life preserver.

My body hates me. The Spouse Thingy is going to want to hit the gym again today, and my body is busy hating me.

It’s a beautiful day, however—I can see actual sunshine out my office window—so it might be a day to pull my car out of the garage and take it for a spin with the top down. He can go ahead and take himself to the gym; I can drive around in the sunshine, grinning like a fool, and then I’ll take myself out for this huge, so-not-good-for-you lunch. Simply because I can.

Or I’ll sit here and whine about how much I ache from just a half hour of swimming half assed laps…

You didn’t think I’d spend the day working did you?

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