Hello, Hello, Reader! Or maybe by now you're my Non-Reader, and I'm only typing for my own amusement, which is generally the case anyway, so no diffs.
I'm only here because I'm procrastinating going to the gym, and I've run my usual gamut by now - must eat first, now must digest, but only for 20 minutes then I'm gonna hop right up and hit it, which turns into it's so comfy, I deserve a short nap, and then I might as well catch up on a show I never get the chance to watch, which brings us right here, to 9:00 p.m. and I have a small niggling thought in the back of my brain that thinks I'm really going to get up, put on my gym clothes and drive my ass to the gym. Right after I'm done here.
That is really going to happen, never, Reader.
We both know that.
It's this, then Hammer Time, which in my world equals Jammie Time. I'm gonna hammer my fat ass right into my jammies. Good job, Me, I really know how to come up with absolutely any excuse at all not to work out.
But that begs the question, Reader: If working out was so gol'darn good for you, why wouldn't our bodies crave it, the way a thirsty man crawling across the desert craves a cool glass of water or someone being smothered by a pillow over their face craves air??
Because it's not that good for you, that's why. It's just a bunch of working-out propaganda that's spewed by the tennis shoe industry to get you to think it's good for you.
Well, I'm not falling for it, Sir! If a body was supposed to run in place and bike to nowhere, we would thirst for it! Or gasp for it! I'm not thirsty or gaspy. My body is instead craving the pillowy softness of my bed. I don't even have to barter with myself to get in it.
So anyway. I've just realized that typing up, "it's 9:00 (p.m.)" and "going to the gym" are two of the dumbest things that could go together. Ever. Because 9:00 is bed time. Said the old woman who collected cats.