I haven't been feeling too good these past couple of days. Call it PMS, exhaustion, tortured-body syndrome from too much cardio, step, circuit and kettle-bell training this week [have you ever walked up or down a few stairs feeling like your calves have honest-to-god RIPS in them - that would not mean "RIPS" as in 'muscles', but more like 'tears', 'slices by a knife', 'stab wound' rips?]. And maybe if I felt like I had lost even an ounce of weight this week it might be just a hair easier to tolerate, but instead I am bloated, hungry, out of wine and miserable.
So, as I relaxed on the couch earlier today, feeling guilty for just sitting there, I decided I should conquer one of my clutter-piles. Take a look at my clutter - I can't bare to even look at it:
Aside from the bills, take-out menus, IBM stock papers, Friendly's coupon and tanning lotion (I mean, talk about a solid mix of fucking clutter, right???), I would like to point out the empty Ziploc bag. As my husband realized it was just about time for him to jump in the shower and head to work, he glanced at me, and started laughing.
Here's how much he loves me:
So darling husband, my one and only partner...payback will be a bitch my sweetheart. I do love you though. And while this blog has created a monster out of you lately, our hardly-ever-used digital camera has begun a new life of its own. Peace out. And I will warn you only once - be careful what you do when you think no-one is watching.