my training diary, and other assorted shit
While Daniel was in childcare on Friday, I went for a run with a client in the morning, stability trained with her afterwards, and then sat around drinking coffee and eating Italian biscuits with her and her daughter and the cleaning lady for ages, before traipsing over to the gym I still work at from time to time to log in a (FREE!) workout before leaving for another appointment. Then I dropped by again on the way home to swim one hundred (one zero zero!!!!) laps. And the after effects of all that work? My legs are a teeny bit a bit sore (you never think you use your legs that much swimming but you do, and my legs wholeheartedly agree) which would probably disappear completely if I went for a run today, and the rest of my body is fine with a squeak of that glorious post worked-out-but-hard feeling low down between my shoulder blades. Which, as an aside, is where you should be feeling it if you're training mindfully and so as not to screw your posture up even more.
Since ditching the studio arrangement I seem to be finding more time to enjoy stuff like, ooh, I don't know. Life? Probably because I'm not wasting so much energy worrying and feeling guilty. I'd love to get a work out and swim in today too (my mum is here does she ever leave oh my god hey good thinking I may as well take advantage of her ever present god help me presence) but as Tee, Daniel's 12 year old sister, is coming over today, I'm reserving my energy for all the freaking out I'm planning on doing between now and 3pm.
Speaking of which: Strep just called and he'll drop Tee off sometime between 3 and 3.30, and will come inside for a few minutes while he helps her bring in some stuff. Seems she's bought Daniel some gifts and I'm guessing, a big old box of nappies (diapers, freaks). In return, we have a Daniel Bee original finger painting to give, wrapped around the blue topaz and silver necklace we bought for her last year (in the midst of all this ridiculous running away shit her dickhead father kept pulling). Which is all very nice. Thing is, I have an issue with "I'll just pop inside for a minute while bla bla bla.". Seriously, why on earth should I let him in my house to see Daniel when I've stated on the two (2) occasions since February that we've spoken that no, he doesn't get to see Daniel until he's shown me he's not that big of an loser dickhead fuckwad. Seriously, is he or does he think I am really that stupid? So no, I told him that he's not welcome in my house, he's not welcome to meet Daniel yet, and that I'll come out to the car to help Tee instead.
Secondly, and yes I'm a nitpicking fool, but come the fuck on. We said 3pm. What's this "between 3 and 3.30" bullshit?
Daniel is asleep right now too, in preparation for the Big Event, but earlier today, during his industrious very busy morning and while I was filing my nails, eating bon bons, catching up on the goings on of the internet and excuse me, what baby? it went eerily quiet for a minute. Obviously and as evidenced by the lack of computer outage, it wasn't a rogue fork in an unprotected power point that was responsible, but still worth a look. I found him hunkered in a corner, totally absorbed and quietly reading his books, Mr Pointer Finger out as he thoughtfully traced the pictures and told himself the story. Cute as...I've really got to stop using the eff word. I have a swarthy (to say the least) mouth and if Daniel's first really clear word is that one, I'm going to have to look shocked before furrowing my brow and wondering out loud where on earth he picked up that awful, awful word.If When that day comes though, if he doesn't use the word in its correct context, given that he's had that much tutelage, that's when I'll be shocked for real.
In other riveting news, I've been watching Love My Way on dvd the past week or so and finally finished the last of Season 2 last night and holy fuck*, what a depressingly heavy series. Good though, very, very good, despite leaving me in tears the entire time after episode 8, Season 1. Not just a delicate drop or three plopping out of my eyeballs, mind. Great, heaving sobs into the purpose-held cushion. Gah. Then right after the uber-weighty final episode was over, I put the first disc to Series 3 of One Tree Hill, which is as light weight as the OC and as just as full of angsty teens, making it an interesting turn around, and one my brain had quite a bit of difficulty processing.
Which may have been the wine talking.
Heebus cruspy, I've turned into quite the lush in the last week. I'm still one glass=total boozehead though. Practice doesn't appear to make perfect, wine style here at the Villa de Bee. It just makes me feel trashed and kind of seedy the next day. It's worth it though, becuase I feel quite clever saying things like "hmm, peppery top note" and thinking things like "oh yes, this one has legs". I reckon too, that I'm full of shit**.
Next, I'm wondering how effective a Paypal Donate Now!! button would be over there in my sidebar. What? Not at all? Bummer.
I'm trying to work out how I can find a spare five grand. Did I mention that my final surgery (to take out a rogue bolt) is on Monday next week? because it is, and if I can find the spondoolies, I can get my nose fixed too. It's not a bad nose, it was quite nice actually in its heyday, but it's crooked and with the old ears and nose never stop growing thingo going on, as I age, it gets more crooked, thank you champagne cork right between the eyes about twenty years go (true story!) . Given the opportunity to get it straightened by Professor Perfect, it seems like a wasted opportunity not to, especially since I'll be out cold and flat on my back anyway. Which is how I've been for most nights this week, ha ha ha, thank you The Cover Drive. The Prof is good too, in that because of past discussions with him vis a vis the work of some other fuckwit a thousand years ago and when I was batshit crazy that left me with horrendous scars and a dent in my head, I know for a fact that he won't do stuff that he doesn't think is a) necessary or b) will improve anything. Which is most unlike Tony Moore (oh, I'm sorry, did I say that fuckwit's name out loud?), who will keep on operating regardless of the benefit (or lack of) for as long as a) you're still mental, and b) you can afford to pay him. If The P thinks a nose could benefit from a tweak, it's because he sees it would benefit from, not merely look better because of, and so from my perspective, please see above reference to "why not?". Why not? Because I'd have to sell a kidney first, but think The Secret. If I keep focussed, what with a week to find the cash, it will happen. Yes, and I have a ticket from last night's lotto and without checking the numbers, I reckon it's worth a cool million or three. (and it's got nothing to do with vanity. No. Ahem. It's because I'm nothing if not totally averse to being half assed, and because it feels half assed to get my entire face remodeled and then leave out the bits in between, a straightened nose would be the piece de resistance, as it were. Without it, it's like renovating an old bungalow but without sanding back and repainting the woodwork which is half assed)
Tee is due here anytime in the next thirteen minutes (if her moron father is to be believed) and because Daniel is still asleep in the bedroom, I'm still wearing what amounts to my pyjamas. Awesome, but not so much so that I'll gt off my butt and get changed into something less comfortable but possibly (but not bloody likely given the state of my wardrobe (lack of) selection) a smite more good impressionish.
Ten minutes and counting. If it wasn't for Tee and if he wasn't here on the absolute stroke of 3.30, I'd grab the sleeping boy and fuck off out of here before the clock even hit 3.31.
Update and with two minutes to spare, homeboy calls me from down the road, just about to turn into my street and "can I drive down the driveway instead of parking on the street?". With Daniel still asleep and not about to pop his gorgeous head out the door and look achingly appealing, I said yes. Because I am good and kind. Also, am still wearing pyjamas.
*Well then. Operation SwearNoMore is off to a good start
**Fuck***
***Shit!****
**** -> a billion asterixes, fuck, shit, fuck, shit etc
****Dammit!!*****
*****this could go on forever
Since ditching the studio arrangement I seem to be finding more time to enjoy stuff like, ooh, I don't know. Life? Probably because I'm not wasting so much energy worrying and feeling guilty. I'd love to get a work out and swim in today too (my mum is here does she ever leave oh my god hey good thinking I may as well take advantage of her ever present god help me presence) but as Tee, Daniel's 12 year old sister, is coming over today, I'm reserving my energy for all the freaking out I'm planning on doing between now and 3pm.
Speaking of which: Strep just called and he'll drop Tee off sometime between 3 and 3.30, and will come inside for a few minutes while he helps her bring in some stuff. Seems she's bought Daniel some gifts and I'm guessing, a big old box of nappies (diapers, freaks). In return, we have a Daniel Bee original finger painting to give, wrapped around the blue topaz and silver necklace we bought for her last year (in the midst of all this ridiculous running away shit her dickhead father kept pulling). Which is all very nice. Thing is, I have an issue with "I'll just pop inside for a minute while bla bla bla.". Seriously, why on earth should I let him in my house to see Daniel when I've stated on the two (2) occasions since February that we've spoken that no, he doesn't get to see Daniel until he's shown me he's not that big of an loser dickhead fuckwad. Seriously, is he or does he think I am really that stupid? So no, I told him that he's not welcome in my house, he's not welcome to meet Daniel yet, and that I'll come out to the car to help Tee instead.
Secondly, and yes I'm a nitpicking fool, but come the fuck on. We said 3pm. What's this "between 3 and 3.30" bullshit?
Daniel is asleep right now too, in preparation for the Big Event, but earlier today, during his industrious very busy morning and while I was filing my nails, eating bon bons, catching up on the goings on of the internet and excuse me, what baby? it went eerily quiet for a minute. Obviously and as evidenced by the lack of computer outage, it wasn't a rogue fork in an unprotected power point that was responsible, but still worth a look. I found him hunkered in a corner, totally absorbed and quietly reading his books, Mr Pointer Finger out as he thoughtfully traced the pictures and told himself the story. Cute as...I've really got to stop using the eff word. I have a swarthy (to say the least) mouth and if Daniel's first really clear word is that one, I'm going to have to look shocked before furrowing my brow and wondering out loud where on earth he picked up that awful, awful word.
In other riveting news, I've been watching Love My Way on dvd the past week or so and finally finished the last of Season 2 last night and holy fuck*, what a depressingly heavy series. Good though, very, very good, despite leaving me in tears the entire time after episode 8, Season 1. Not just a delicate drop or three plopping out of my eyeballs, mind. Great, heaving sobs into the purpose-held cushion. Gah. Then right after the uber-weighty final episode was over, I put the first disc to Series 3 of One Tree Hill, which is as light weight as the OC and as just as full of angsty teens, making it an interesting turn around, and one my brain had quite a bit of difficulty processing.
Which may have been the wine talking.
Heebus cruspy, I've turned into quite the lush in the last week. I'm still one glass=total boozehead though. Practice doesn't appear to make perfect, wine style here at the Villa de Bee. It just makes me feel trashed and kind of seedy the next day. It's worth it though, becuase I feel quite clever saying things like "hmm, peppery top note" and thinking things like "oh yes, this one has legs". I reckon too, that I'm full of shit**.
Next, I'm wondering how effective a Paypal Donate Now!! button would be over there in my sidebar. What? Not at all? Bummer.
I'm trying to work out how I can find a spare five grand. Did I mention that my final surgery (to take out a rogue bolt) is on Monday next week? because it is, and if I can find the spondoolies, I can get my nose fixed too. It's not a bad nose, it was quite nice actually in its heyday, but it's crooked and with the old ears and nose never stop growing thingo going on, as I age, it gets more crooked, thank you champagne cork right between the eyes about twenty years go (true story!) . Given the opportunity to get it straightened by Professor Perfect, it seems like a wasted opportunity not to, especially since I'll be out cold and flat on my back anyway. Which is how I've been for most nights this week, ha ha ha, thank you The Cover Drive. The Prof is good too, in that because of past discussions with him vis a vis the work of some other fuckwit a thousand years ago and when I was batshit crazy that left me with horrendous scars and a dent in my head, I know for a fact that he won't do stuff that he doesn't think is a) necessary or b) will improve anything. Which is most unlike Tony Moore (oh, I'm sorry, did I say that fuckwit's name out loud?), who will keep on operating regardless of the benefit (or lack of) for as long as a) you're still mental, and b) you can afford to pay him. If The P thinks a nose could benefit from a tweak, it's because he sees it would benefit from, not merely look better because of, and so from my perspective, please see above reference to "why not?". Why not? Because I'd have to sell a kidney first, but think The Secret. If I keep focussed, what with a week to find the cash, it will happen. Yes, and I have a ticket from last night's lotto and without checking the numbers, I reckon it's worth a cool million or three. (and it's got nothing to do with vanity. No. Ahem. It's because I'm nothing if not totally averse to being half assed, and because it feels half assed to get my entire face remodeled and then leave out the bits in between, a straightened nose would be the piece de resistance, as it were. Without it, it's like renovating an old bungalow but without sanding back and repainting the woodwork which is half assed)
Tee is due here anytime in the next thirteen minutes (if her moron father is to be believed) and because Daniel is still asleep in the bedroom, I'm still wearing what amounts to my pyjamas. Awesome, but not so much so that I'll gt off my butt and get changed into something less comfortable but possibly (but not bloody likely given the state of my wardrobe (lack of) selection) a smite more good impressionish.
Ten minutes and counting. If it wasn't for Tee and if he wasn't here on the absolute stroke of 3.30, I'd grab the sleeping boy and fuck off out of here before the clock even hit 3.31.
Update and with two minutes to spare, homeboy calls me from down the road, just about to turn into my street and "can I drive down the driveway instead of parking on the street?". With Daniel still asleep and not about to pop his gorgeous head out the door and look achingly appealing, I said yes. Because I am good and kind. Also, am still wearing pyjamas.
*Well then. Operation SwearNoMore is off to a good start
**Fuck***
***Shit!****
**** -> a billion asterixes, fuck, shit, fuck, shit etc
****Dammit!!*****
*****this could go on forever
posted by aibee at 12:19
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