Saturday, April 28, 2007

I feel like I ought to be blogging, but don't have all that much to say. At the doctor's office on Thursday, the nurse was kind enough to have the scale on kilograms when she weighed me in, but ruined it by switching it over to pounds before I could step off. Dammit! Oddly enough, I'd actually started working out again the night before. It's like I somehow knew that I was overweight and out of shape. I must be psychic!

Today, though, my workout was yard work. Tomorrow, maybe as well. Today was mowing, and tomorrow I think I'm going to try and coax grass into growing on our front hillside, weedy and denuded as it is. It's a process not unlike writing poetry. You prepare the soil, sow the seed, water just enough, but not too much, and then the birds come in and eat the seed, and you're left with weedy muck.

Christie's sick, so with her confined to the couch, I was finally able to get her to watch Clerks II. It's not that she doesn't like Kevin Smith movies (actually, she's a bigger fan of the first movie than I am). It just that sitting still for that long only happens when she's not feeling well. She liked it and all, but she was kind of bummed that Randall stole her Tolkien joke.

See, just a few weeks ago, she was reading some fantasy novel she picked up off a table at Barnes and Noble, and she tossed it aside saying, "I'm coming to realize that when one of these books says 'in the tradition of Tolkien' on the cover, all it really means is that there are going to be a lot of long, boring parts with a lot of fucking walking."

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