I guess I should downgrade what I call my morning exercise. Let’s use the term “jog” from now on. Because today I actually RAN for a few miles (why? I guess I wanted to feel like a speeding bullet). And now I can barely hobble around the office.
Funny, you’d think six miles a day at any speed would prepare me for just a few miles flat-out. Nah. My thighs and calves are screaming bloody murder. In harmony. For real: it’s like Jan and Dean are surrounding my kneecaps. I AM the little old lady from Pasadena.
Of course, part of my operating in slow motion could in fact be related to the axe I’m convinced will fall any day, now. It’s been s-l-o-w at work. Nobody’s giving me much to do. I know what that means….
I experienced something very like this tumbleweeds-in-the-break-room panic in 2000. Back then, we called it “dot-commed.” But what term can we coin for Bush completely destroying the American economy? I suggest “oiled.” As in, “My ass got oiled today. I’ve got to file for unemployment.”
It hasn’t happened yet, but the signs are in the air. Ah, well. Six months off would give me more time to run, that’s for sure. And to repair the muscle fibers I so enjoy tearing up in the morning.
The country, I’m afraid, will take a bit longer than a few long lunch times to recover.
You can run six miles? I doubt I can run six blocks.
On another note, hope like hell that you don’t start showing up #1 in Google searches for “oiled ass.” That is, unless you want a bunch of middle aged men becoming exceptionally disappointed upon their arrival here.
ok, I admit. I was curious about Tom’s comment, so, of course, I had to Google “oiled ass”. Nope, you aren’t #1. In fact, you didn’t even make the top 10 of the 76,100 results. Who knew there were so many oiled asses?!